#dumb sketch that should never have made it this far

[eternal-reverie]

got the posting anxiety bad tonight

[evera-era]

my sweet girl.

ellie williams x afab!reader

warnings: friends to lovers, virgin reader, ellie has a praise + innocence kink, fingering, oral r!receiving, facesitting, fondling, lots of kissing, you talk her through it, fluff !!!!

a/n: kinktober week 2 is here! writing this had me feeling some typa way,, ellie would never admit it but she’s def a praise kink girly

Today was different. Not because you were doing anything out of the ordinary — because you weren’t. You were hanging out with your friend Ellie, as you usually did on the weekends.

But you noticed that you’d let your eyes linger on her for a bit too long. And she let her eyes linger on you, too. You wondered if she always did that; if you only noticed because you felt confident enough to stare a bit more today.

Truthfully, your crush on Ellie developed a while ago. You were almost sure that it was obvious, considering how easily you’d agree to her — on everything.

But Ellie didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe she just didn’t notice? Either way, she really liked your presence.

She made that apparent, albeit casual with it. Some days she showed up with a smile on her face and a movie tucked under her arm. Other times, she’d alter the schedule, sneakily pairing herself with you for patrols. If she noticed you at the pub, she’d greet you before handing you a freshly poured drink.

Ellie naturally gravitated to you. And you, her. Being around her just felt good. It was the sound of her voice that brought you back to the present.

“It’s nice out.” She murmurs, turning her head to the side to look at you. She was laying horizontally on your bed.

“Yeah,” You replied, leaning your head back against the headboard. “Should we go and do something?”

She presses her lips into a thin line, then shakes her head.

“Rather stay in here. With you.” She says calmly.

You smiled meekly. “Okay.”

You continued to doodle in her sketchbook. She let you borrow it sometimes, to practice your drawing. You’d tell her not to bother, that you’d never be nearly as good as she was. But she always insisted, and you accepted — at the least, she’d have something to remind her of you.

“Can I see?” She asks, noticing the way your sketch held your attention.

“It’s your sketchbook,” You joked, handing it to her.

She took it with gentle hands, holding it open so she could look at it properly. She flickered her eyes from the book to you. “This is good, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” You sighed. “Just… a silly drawing.”

“Your drawings aren’t silly.” She responds. “I think it’s nice.”

You shrugged, looking down at your hands. She passes it back to you.

“Why don’t you tear it out when you’re done?” She says. “So you can put it up.”

“Here? In the room?” You say with furrowed brows. You didn’t realize it was kind of a dumb question until after.

Ellie nods. “C’mon, it’ll look nice. It is nice.”

You look down at her bashfully. “I feel like you’re lying.”

“Well… I’m not,” She states. “And if you don’t hang it up, then I will. At my place.”

Your eyes widen. You can feel your cheeks go warm as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

“You… you serious?” You ask.

“Do I look like I’m not?”

You felt your face blush even more. But you muster up the courage to slowly meet her gaze. Her eyes are set on you, and they don’t look away.

“You always look serious,” You comment, shyly.

“Yeah… that part’s true.” She says, looking down at your lap. “Still tryin’ to work on that.”

“It’s okay. I mean… I don’t mind how you look.” You cleared your throat, looking out the window. “You’re pretty, Ellie.”

Ellie could feel her heartbeat grow in her chest. Her gaze softens as she glances at you. Then she shifts to put her hands behind her head.

“You’re prettier,” She adds, kicking her foot. “You’re always… like, gentle, and stuff.”

“You don’t know that,” You say, grinning. “Maybe I’m just that way around you.”

“Oh yeah?” She smirks. “Guess I’m pretty lucky, huh?”

You giggled. “Only so far.”

The room gets quiet again. You swore that during times like these, you could hear her breathing.

“Can I ask you something?” She says, interrupting the silence.

You nodded, closing the sketchbook.

“Have you ever, like…” She sighs. “Dated anyone? Or did stuff?”

Your heart skips a beat at her question. Ellie had never asked about this kind of subject before. And you’d never expect it from her — she wasn’t the type to openly delve into gossip.

You fiddled your thumbs at the thought. Ellie must be quite curious.

“Dated, yeah.” You murmured. “Doing stuff… not really.”

“Oh.” She mumbles. “Is it just, like, not your thing��� or…”

“No,” You sigh. “Moreso the person. I think I wanted to like them, but I didn’t really like them. They weren’t… a good match for me.”

Ellie nods. Another minute goes by before she looks back up at you.

“So, then… what’s a good match for you?”

You brought your knees up to your chest.

“It’s a secret,” You whisper playfully.

“Secret?” She feigns shock. “I thought we were being honest here!”

You laughed.

Deep down, you were scared to confess your feelings to Ellie. You didn’t wanna ruin a good thing. But she’s always been soft when it comes to you, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Do you really wanna know?” You questioned after a minute, looking back over at her.

She raises her eyebrows. “I— I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or anything—“

“I’m not uncomfortable, Ellie,” You say. “Just… nervous, to like, say it.”

She watches you carefully. She swallows firmly, then folds her bottom lip beneath her teeth.

“Well… I wouldn’t… judge you, if you told me, you know.” She says quietly. “I might judge the person, but… not you.”

“That doesn’t really help, in this case.” You exhale shakily. Her eyes widen as she tries to figure out what you mean.

“Because… I like you,” You admit. “And… I think we would be a good match, Ellie.”

It’s quiet for a moment. A stray gust of wind blows through the window, causing the sheer curtains to sway gently. You maintained eye contact with the brunette, awaiting her answer.

“Did…” She clears her throat. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.” You reply. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, now.”

When she looks at you, her expression isn’t hardened. She’s studying you, tenderly. You can almost see a sliver of hope in her eyes.

Her eyes flutter as she tries to form a coherent sentence. “Um—“

“But you—“ You look off to the side, fearful of rejection. “You don’t have to say anything, Els.”

“No, I—“ Ellie huffs. “I’ve had a crush on you, too, Y/N. Since the first time we talked.”

Your breathing becomes shallow. You look over at her again; her eyes haven’t left your face.

“R-Really?”

She nods carefully, lifting her finger to scratch the tip of her ear. “I just, I didn’t think you felt the same way about me.”

You laugh under your breath. “How could I not?”

Ellie wrinkles her lips, bashfully. “I’m… not very lovely. Kinda just… me, y’know.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed, so you were laying next to her in a similar position now. You rest your chin against your palm.

“I think you’re very lovely, Ellie.” You whisper. “And I like you a lot.”

She smiles, looking down at your lips. Her eyelashes flutter again. When her voice comes out, it’s like a whisper.

“Could… can I—“

“Yeah,” You cut her off, not even waiting to give her permission.

Ellie takes another moment to study your lips before propping herself up. At first she leaves her hands on the bed, but then she decides to cup the side of your face. She caresses your cheek with her thumb slowly — she wants to savor this moment — and listens to the sound of her heart beating.

She doesn’t want to close her eyes, but she thinks it’d be weird if she doesn’t, so she settles on doing so. Her nose brushes up against yours as her lips press gently against your own.

She kisses you like if she kisses any harder, you’d break. You can feel her holding her breath, trying to do it right. She pulls away after a few seconds.

“Was…” She exhales. “Was that okay?”

You nod, your lips spreading into a smile. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

“I know, I know.” She looks down at your lips again. “Just… didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You can’t fuck up a kiss,” You reply. “Unless… wait, is this your first time?”

“No— shit, did it seem like it?” She asks with wide eyes.

“No, no.” You giggle. “But you’re so nervous, I—“

“‘Cause— you— you’re so fucking pretty,” She retorts, facepalming as she blushes. “It’s hard.”

You bite your lip, tucking a stray piece of her away from her face. “Then do it again.”

Her eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“As many times as you want,” You murmur. “Why not?”

Ellie could feel warmth swell in her chest. This is why she loved being around you. You never made her feel bad for being the way she is. And yet, you somehow gave her the encouragement that made her feel like she could do anything in the world.

She doesn’t talk this time. Merely takes a breath, then leans in. She kisses you slow, taking the time to actually feel your lips. They were soft and sweet, just like you. Ellie swears she could stay right here forever.

When she pulls away, she keeps her eyes closed as she steadies her breathing. “Better?”

“Yeah,” You reply. “Let’s do it some more.”

If you had opened your eyes, you would have seen the way Ellie looked at you before you grabbed her face. But you didn’t, and she’s thankful, because she’s frozen in place for the first few seconds.

You had your hands in her hair as you pulled her top lip between yours. The tiniest moan escapes from her throat as she tries her best to re-focus and kiss you back. After a moment, she pulls away by a centimeter, then turns her head to the other side.

The two of you kiss several more times before she draws back. You look at her with expectant eyes.

“I—“ She stutters. “I’ve gotta… if we keep going, I’m not gonna wanna stop.”

“So don’t,” You explain, leaning to kiss her again. She pulls away.

“No, I mean…” Her face flushes even more. “God, this is so fucking embarrassing.”

At first you’re confused, but when your eyes flash down, you realize what she meant. Her nipples are poking through her shirt. She has her hands pulling at her button-up, trying to cover them.

You gently grab her wrists.

“Hey, it’s okay—“

“It’s not,” She insists. “I… I feel like a fuckin’ pervert. It’s only a fucking kiss, and I’m getting turned on—“

“Ellie—“

“I’m ruining it—“

“Ellie.” You say sternly, holding her hands still. “You’re not ruining anything, okay? It’s fine. If… if that’s what your body’s telling you, then…”

She watches you deliberately. “Then what?”

“Then… we could try it,” You whisper. “If you want.”

“Wh—“ She stutters. “But, what do you want? I don’t want you to feel like I’m going too fast—“

“I’m fine, Ellie. Promise.” You say. “I wanna try it, too.”

A damp spot began to form in Ellie’s underwear. She was so careful not to come on too strong, and here you were, practically begging her to take you all the way. She was shocked. Her head felt like it was spinning.

“You… you want me to be your first?”

You nodded.

“I— I don’t know if I can do that.” She blinks a few times before clarifying herself. “Not that I don’t want to — I really, really fucking want to — but I just, I don’t know if I’m gonna be good enough for you.”

“You’re already good enough for me,” You mumble, staring at her lips again.

“I mean it, Y/N, I—“ She sighs. “I don’t want your first time to be any less than perfect.”

“And it won’t be, as long as it’s with you.” You stroke her shoulder. “I… I want this, Ellie.”

She stares at you, still concerned.

“And even still, I’ll totally show you. I… I can tell you what feels good.”

After hearing you say that, Ellie swears her panties become a pool. She never thought about this before. She never thought about you telling her how to please you. Letting her know when she’s doing you right, and hitting the right spot. She can only imagine how pretty your voice would sound as she’s tongue deep in your cu—

“Ellie?” You say, bringing her out of her head. “If you changed your mind—“

“No, I—“ She places her hand on the back of your neck. “I’d never. I was just thinking.”

You smile. “Okay. Well, I’m right here, when you wanna start doing instead of thinking.”

She smirks to herself, nodding before removing her button up and tossing it on the floor. She’s wearing a black undershirt underneath, which fit tight around her upper arms. You resist the urge to whistle lowly.

“Lookin’ good, Els.”

She grins sheepishly. “I guess.”

Her hair droops down into her face as she slowly gets on top of you.

“Should’ve gotten a hair tie.”

“I’ll hold it for you,” You say, quickly moving your hands up to hold her hair back.

She leans down, grinning into your lips. “Thanks.”

She’s more confident when she kisses you this time. For the first few, it’s close-lipped, and then she feels the urge to explore. She swipes her tongue across your lower lip, and you copy her. She takes it as an invitation into your mouth, and she quickly begins toying with your tongue.

You vocalize a moan, which comes out awkwardly muffled. But Ellie didn’t care. She liked where this was going.

She uses her thumb to pull your mouth open even more. Her kissing becomes desperate, as if she needed you to breathe. You struggled to fully hold her hair as her movements became more passionate, but you tried anyway.

When she pulls away, a small string of spit connects the two of you. She emits a low groan at the sight.

“Fuck,” She whispers. “You’re so pretty like this.”

You look up at her with lustful eyes. “Can you take my clothes off?”

She stares at you before complying, gently pulling your shirt over your head. Her hands trail down the front of your body before hooking under your pant loop and pulling down. You decide to help her when it came to removing your panties.

When she’s done undressing you, she takes the time to fully look at the sight before her. Your bare body was glistening under the fading sunlight. She never thought she’d get the chance to see you under her, much less naked.

“You too,” You add, gesturing to her tank top. She nods before disrobing as well.

She looks down at your body. “Do you want—“

“Ellie,” You interrupt, reaching up to fondle her. Her breasts were perky, and her nipples a pale shade of pink. You eventually slide your hands down onto her hips. “You’ve been hiding all this beauty the whole time?”

She blushes again, speechless from your sudden compliment.

“God.” You whisper. “Ellie, you— your body… it’s stunning.”

Any previous train of thought is cleared from Ellie’s mind. She has no idea what to think or say, or even how to speak, for that matter. All she knows is that, if she’s not careful, she might cum from your words alone.

So she leans down instead, pressing her nose to your chest. She inhales your scent before tilting up and wrapping her lips around your breast. If she was honest, she didn’t want just your nipple — she wants to consume it all. Her other hand massages your other tit.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you gently pulled on her scalp. The sensations she’s giving you made you gasp, thighs pressing together on their own.

She eventually switches over to the other side, and does the same thing. This time, she flits her green eyes up at you, carefully watching the faces you make. She drags her free hand down from the side of your breast to your waist, squeezing gently.

“Everything okay?” She whispers.

“Y-Yeah,” You whimper, looking down at her. “That felt really nice.”

She pulls away, leaning forward for one more kiss.

“Can I go down on you?” She asks quietly.

You hum in agreement, and she grins. She brings herself down til her face is just below your bellybutton.

“Smells so good,” She says, placing a small kiss on your pelvis. You prop yourself up against your elbows so you can get a better view looking down.

“I’m gonna lick it a bit,” She says softly. “Wanna know if it feels good.”

“Okay,” You grin.

The first stroke of her tongue is drawn out, almost painfully so. Your mouth watered. You craved the stimulation so bad, it was hard to remind yourself to be patient. But you knew Ellie had more experience than you, so it’s not worth rushing.

The licks after begin feeling much better against your skin. Ellie moaned a few times into your pussy, each noise making you gently rock yourself down against her mouth.

“Fuck—“

She pulls back, only by a centimeter. “Tastes like heaven.”

“Your tongue feels like heaven,” You reply. “It’s— it’s amazing—“

When she goes back in again, she begins to try different techniques. She creates a suction on your cunt while flicking her tongue against your clit. She also just kisses it, making out with it like she’d make out with you.

You told her you’d give her advice and yet, she didn’t need any. Everything she did just felt so fucking good.

“S’ good.” You drawl, rubbing your thigh against the side of her neck. “Want your tongue down there forever.”

Ellie’s own cunt throbs as she hears those words. She hums gently into your pussy, kissing it for a few more minutes before looking up at you.

“What else do you wanna try?”

You look around for a moment. “I— I was… well, I don’t know if you’d wanna.”

“Wanna what, baby?” She asks. “Tell me.”

“Could…” You sigh. “Could I sit on your face? You know what I mean, right? Not actually sit, but—“

She chuckles a bit. “Yeah, I know. But you could just sit on it, too.”

Ellie flips over so she’s on her back. You lean forward and crawl to where she is before scrunching your lips. “What if you couldn’t breathe?”

“Then I’d die happy,” She replies, giving two light taps on your ass. You take it as a signal to lower yourself down on her.

Something about having you on top of her flips a switch in Ellie. She begins absolutely devouring you like Thanksgiving dinner, arms caging you in so you can’t move away.

“Holy shit,” You grunt. Ellie continues to lap up your juices, licking and sucking them down.

You run your fingers through her sweaty hair. “Mm— fuck. That’s so good, Els. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

Ellie’s losing her mind at the praise. Her hand absentmindedly falls between her legs. She’s needy in the way she fingers her pussy, before getting an idea.

She reaches up and grabs your hand, then gently guides it towards her slick cunt. Unsure of what to do, you begin rubbing circles. It seems to work — Ellie’s breathing becomes heavier and heavier as she continues eating you out.

While Ellie sucks on your clit, you form a rhythm on hers. You try to stay consistent, but it’s hard to focus. You can feel a ball of pressure forming deep in your tummy.

“Ellie,” You groan out, using your other hand to stabilize yourself for support. “I— I think you might make me cum.”

Unconsciously, you grind down on Ellie’s tongue. Your hand remains on her clit as she reaches down and begins pumping her fingers in and out of her hole.

“Cum for me, baby.” She mumbles against your cunt. “Wanna taste it.”

“Yeah?” You whine.

You weren’t sure what made you say your next words, or where it even came from, but it comes out while you’re riding her face.

“Gonna— gonna be a good girl ‘nd make me cum?”

“Fuck, yes,” She grunts, palm tightening around your ass.

Hearing you talk like that instantly makes her a thousand times wetter. She begins sucking on your clit more ferociously as you move your hand to push your hair out of your face.

“So good— you’re makin’ me feel so good, Ellie.” You mewl, feeding her reaction to your words. “This pussy’s all for you. Nobody else.”

A guttural moan comes out from Ellie. You weren’t sure if the compliments were too much, or if she could breathe properly, but you noticed the way she was fingering herself became stronger and more sloppy.

She pulled you down into her mouth, eyes rolled back into her head while she continued to absolutely abuse your pussy with her tongue.

“Oh— J-Just like that,” You stutter. “Fuck— please— just like that, just like that—“

When you erupt on her tongue, you feel unsteady. Your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as your face scrunches up in pleasure. But Ellie keeps a firm hold on you, relishing in the way you tremble under her touch. She gets off soon after, tightening and pulsing around her own two fingers.

She gets in a few more kisses with your pussy before speaking. “Shit, baby.”

You giggle, letting out a deep breath. “That was… really hot.”

“You’re really hot,” She says, looking up at you and planting one last kiss on your clit. You blush.

“Didn’t know what I was missing out on.” You murmur, climbing off of her. “I… I can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”

Ellie thinks for a moment before sitting up. She smiles. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

“Me, too.” You reply.

You lean in once more, placing another kiss on her lips before turning her cheek and kissing her, there, too. Ellie grabs your hand and presses her lips to the back of it.

“My sweet girl.” She whispers. “I’m so glad I could make you mine.”

[anime-owo-kage-san]

Please, let me indulge in these thoughts for a while.

But, what if Charlie thinks of writing a play for the hotel to perform? Maybe a play about redemption, and within the play has a sinner transform into an angel after getting redeemed.

At first she asks Vaggie to play the sinner to angel part, because she already has angel wings. But, Vaggie insists maybe Angel Dust should play the role, since he’s the hotel’s first (and only, if we’re talking ‘post-canon’) guest.

Charlie over excitedly agrees, before Angel could even have his say and starts sketching out his ‘angel costume’.

Angel Dust doesn’t know why, but one look at the costume design made him feel a little self-conscious. Which is weird because he never gets self-conscious! (Unless it comes to his feet.)

But then again, after all the sexy, skimpy and lacey clothes he’s worn, wearing an angel costume that Charlie designed to be so flowy and stereotypically pure white (an exaggeration to what the angels they’ve seen actually wore) and the fluffy wings—made him strangely… ‘undeserving’ of the role.

The idea of wearing this on stage, in front of everyone, after being known as a pornstar all his afterlife, makes him feel like he’ll just be mocked from the irony.

Phone Call Scenario In My Head:

Angel: *just finished a porno shoot and in the middle of putting on his robe*

*phone starts ringing on a desk away from him*

Random guy: “Uh, Angel… Your phone’s ringing…”

Angel: “Put it on speaker, for me. It’s probably just Cherri again.” *still tying his robe*

Random guy: *picks up phone and puts it on speaker*

(Through the phone) Charlie: “ANGEEEL!!!”

Angel: *turns his head* Charlie…?

Valentino: *eyes narrowed, bc he’s still pissed about last time*

Charlie: “I’m. So. FUCKING EXCITED FOR THE SHOW TONIGHT! You’ll be on time for rehearsal, right? You’re the STAR after all!” *squeals*

Angel: *suddenly remembers the show and his face slowly turns pink* “U-Uh yeah…. Don’t worry, I-I just finished up work… I’ll be there….”

Valentino: *raises his brow at Angel* “Show…?”

Charlie: “Okay! Oooh! I can’t wait to see you in the costume! It’s finally finished! Please, come back as soon as possible so we can see how it looks on you!” *definitely jumping up and down on the other side*

Angel: *tries to hide how weirdly shy he feels* “Pssh! Doll face, I’ll look good in anything! I…. I’ll be there…”

Charlie: “Okay! See you later!”

(Call ends)

Valentino: *makes his way to Angel while smirking* “Well! It looks like this hotel you’re staying at isn’t as ‘clean’ as the princess, makes it sound.”

Angel: *looks at him confused* “The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Valentino: “Oh, you know… That flustered look on your face, says it all! You’re not one to be embarrassed though, amorcito. Pray tell, how sexy is this costume of yours, that even you couldn’t help but flush?”

Angel: *only half paying attention, still thinking about the costume and embarrassed* “It’s…. not, anything like that. Look, I’m done with work. I’m just gonna go.”

Angel: *grabs his phone and leaves before Val can say anything*

Valentino: “Dumb whore. Performing shows somewhere else.”

So, sinners come to watch the show, after seeing Alastor’s advertisement of it —Which didn’t give anyone much context. All they knew was that Angel Dust was performing a show at the hotel, and the show was free!

Valentino shows up just to be a ‘porn critic’, because like everyone else, he still thinks it that type of show.

Angel Dust, who was peaking at the audience backstage gets more nervous, and hides in the dressing room. He was already wearing the costume, but he doesn’t want anyone to see him wearing it.

Sprinkle some Huskerdust into this; Husk is the one who convinces Angel to come out, and build his confidence back up. (Maybe some cheesy, wholesome words about how despite being in hell, he’s “Hell’s only angel, for him —didn’t think this far).

Angel: *peaks his head out the door* “What about Flat Tits?”

Husk: “That doesn’t count. She was from heaven. So for me, you are hell’s angel…”

Angel: “What about Charlie’s da—”

Husk: “Christ! Would you get out here already. Before I stop attempting to compliment you.”

Angel: *laughs lightly* “Yeah, okay. Sorry…”

And the show goes on. Sure, just like Angel expected, the majority of the audience were commenting on the choice of his role. But, he didn’t care anymore. Whenever he looks to the side and sees Husk giving him a supportive smile, he regains confidence and continues on with the play.

[unconsiousppldontwantreblogs]

warning me being stupid and dumb about things I like under the cut

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Angel McCarthy, regarding their time missing between the months of January and April, 2012. Original statement given May 15th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I… I guess, erm, I should just start, then, right? All right. Ahem. This happened a few months ago, um, New Year’s Eve, exactly. Back in California, USA.  I had been working on my writing, a novel about deities and succubi, when I was struck with a rather severe case of writer’s block. It was late, but I decided to venture out into the forest surrounding my home. I lived with my father, at the time, a rather rude old bastard, but for some reason he… he never minded me leaving, if it was for the forest. Ahem.

I walked out the front door, the crisp, pre-spring air filling my lungs. It was a familiar scent- I grew up playing with my siblings in that house, and- Oh. I’m getting off topic. Right, so, I ventured into the forest, making note of things I could incorporate, or, y’know, use in my story, when I suddenly realized- the part of the woods I had gotten to looked… strange. Different.

Now, that was unusual, since I knew the forest like the back of my hand. I knew the path I had taken well, due to the fact I used to go fruit picking down this path with my brother and sister. It had the same elements, but it had a weird feeling to it: like it was fake, y’know? I’ve had derealization episodes before, but this… it was different. Nonetheless, I steeled myself, and continued.

And for a while, it stayed normal. Or, well, you know, not normal, but, unchanging. I figured I had just had an episode due to the argument I had with my father hours prior. I figured it was just my anxiety acting up. I figured the brighter shades of green flickering on the trees was a trick of the light.

I had only realized something was off when I looked at one of the trees: it looked like a bad model of a tree, like from a 3D game that just didn’t land the mark correctly with its rendering.

And as I progressed, I realized that the trees, and ground, got more pixilated and fake looking. I finally decided enough was enough, so I turned around, but there wasn’t… a forest, anymore. No.

It was a green door. A large green door, with blacked, tinted windows, and golden J-shaped handles. Then I turned around. The same door. I was starting to feel stressed out, but I tried to steel my nerves and think logically. There was probably someone inside. Someone who could help. Maybe.

There wasn’t.

The second I walked inside, I knew something was wrong. There was a strong scent of… Grease and something sour. It made my skin prickle. I almost vomited. I slowly stepped inside, looking around. It seemed to be an arcade. There were huge arcade boxes, air hockey tables, things like that.

I was already regretting going inside, when he showed up.

He was tall. Far too tall to be human. Not that he could’ve been human. No. The only thing humanoid about him was his frame. He was like a figure drawing. Something an art student would sketch up, except, he didn’t have a face. Or rather, he did, but it wasn’t… normal. It was like a bird. Or, maybe, a plague dictor mask. And he was completely hollow. I could see right through him, literally.

His voice was loud, bitcrushed, and seeming to come from everywhere in the arcade, almost as if he was the arcade. So, I asked who he was, and where we were. He laughed, a sort of, ‘Jeheheh’ if that makes sense. J seemed to be a common theme for him. Along with green.

He told me his name was Jota, and we were in Jota’s arcade, a place where “Fun Spreads Like The Plague!” Macabre theme, I muttered, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He took me to a room- It looked like the main dining room to a greasy kid’s pizza joint. Do they have Chuck’E’Cheeze here? Unimportant. It was sort of like that, you know, and the smell of grease seemed to get stronger. He told me to take a seat, and that I had caught him on a good day, not everyone gets such a pleasant interaction with the owner. That’s what he said.

And I could tell he meant it. He definitely had a threatening aura around him. One of his arms was severely… glitchy. Yes, it looked glitched. His fingers on that hand came to sharp, green points, and he carried a green scythe with him. Almost like a god of death.

What I asked next seems stupid now, but I asked him if I was dead. He simply laughed, his Jehehe,  and shook his head. “Far from it. This is the single most alive place you’ll ever be.” He told me, and I felt a shiver go up my spine as I felt he meant it.

I asked how to leave. His expression seemed to falter.

I decided not to ask about it again. I don’t think I would’ve made it out if I asked again.

And then he asked me to play a game. He said it was simple, a short game, it wouldn’t take long. I had a terrible feeling, and… I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I- I have to go.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Angel attempted to leave, stating that they feared “he was watching” and that “they don’t want him to find [them]”.

I’m honestly not sure what to believe for this one. It’s highly likely that Angel had a long term hallucination, but it doesn’t explain why they were missing for months, with no sign of them being in the woods. 

We cannot question their father for the details, nor either of their siblings, as Michael, Delilah, and Gabriel McCarthy have all sadly passed since then. Angel also refused to come to London for further questioning, which, makes sense, considering the distance and the fact they wish to put all of the happenings at their house behind them. They’ve settled with a wife, Lilith Potter. Hm.

I have a few other statements from them made on the same date, most of them starting with ‘I’m here, might as well’, but as far as I could tell the only mention of that plague doctor was once in an earlier statement, and surrounded by nonsensical ramblings about mirror people, and gods. I know that we don’t need anything getting into the religious territory. Not anymore.

Ahem. Well, I suppose that’s it, then. Though, one thing did come across as strange… I have been able to find a page on the website tumblr that bears striking similarities to the place Angel described. I might have to look into this further. Hmm.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[hikibeeplus]

Is Shin Gensokyo at all inspired by Osana Reimu?

Not really, I get a lot of comments how the current story really sounds like osana reimu but the root really started with this silly sketches

The story in which the sketches took place in is a much more modern Gensokyo. There’s the scarlet devil mansion being a huge corporate entity, the kappa having a tech company with a monopoly on it and former hell having a nuclear energy that powers the whole of Gensokyo. The Protagonists are these 3 little fellas but eventually I decided to scrap the story all together because I really don’t know where to go with it. However the theme of modern Gensokyo persists throughout the iteration.

The next iteration is more of a next generation of Gensokyo Incident Solver, kinda like how Boruto is to Naruto (I know, I don’t have any other comparison). This is also where I first came up with ShinGensokyo as a name (Not on my own, my friend gave it as a suggestion and I took it). The story is centered around 3 characters too, which is Reiyu Hakurei the daughter of Reimu, Hatsuma Morichika the daughter of Marisa and Rin Satsuki, a half youkai kirin. The modern setting of Gensokyo was toned down in this iteration, no big bad evil corporation SDM, the kappa tech company is not really a tech company anymore, and the Moriya become the huge factor of technology trickling into Gensokyo.

The main theme of the story here was about Reiyu looking up to take up the mantle of Hakurei Shrine Maiden like her mother but she is timid about it and Reimu don’t really want to push that responsibility to Reiyu as she doesn’t really know how to teach Reiyu to become a shrine maiden herself. Really had difficulty with this iteration because it changes a lot of the major characters in Touhou and I really have a hard time to do them justices, I’d also have to worry about the theme of modern Gensokyo and how everyone copes with the changes made while at the same time I have to focus on Reiyu’s and the other characters’ arc. Overall it’s a story heavy project for a first timer attempting to make a comic series. But then….

I made these little sketches of “wouldn’t it be funny if Rumia gets adopted by Yukari as a shikigami.” it got some attention and I keep drawing it because I adore drawing a simple character design and also I love Yukari. I tried making it a separate series than ShinGensokyo and titled it Sunshine but my ambitious dumb self thought that I should add some substances other than “haha silly Rumia.” and so I got the idea of combining ShinGensokyo and Sunshine and it’s a formula that I came to accept.

Rumia is kind of a blank template for me to start working out her character which is good. Initially, I came up with a gag slice-of-life comic about a modern Gensokyo as seen through the eye of a clueless Rumia but then I decided to add some character development to Rumia too which is now the current state of the comic.

In conclusion, No, ShinGensokyo is not at all inspired by Osana Reimu. The main theme of ShinGensokyo is about dealing with changes and growing up while Osana Reimu and it's subsequence sequel Reireimu from what I can tell is dealing with tragedy and past traumas (I never really watched it, only heard about it, my apologies if I get the theme wrong). the only similarities I could tell is Rumia's questionable origin both in Osana and Shingensokyo. If you read this far, thank you and sorry for going on about it with a long post when the answer is just simply No. Thank you for asking.

[deandoesthingstome]

Night Moves

Chapter 2

Pairing: Walter Marshall x OFC (Alexandra Pierce)

Series Summary: When Walter Marshall is called to investigate a homicide by the railroad tracks, he quickly uncovers an unsettling pattern. Alexandra Pierce just wants someone to find out what happened to her friend. She has some secrets, too. And Walter’s going to uncover them.

Word Count: 2486

Series Warnings: In general, this series will depict assault, murder, stripping, hooking, rough sex, make up sex, fingering, oral (m and F receiving), p in v sex in various positions, self-loathing, failed relationships, smoking, drug use, drug addiction, general violence, and maybe some comfort. +18, Minors DNI

Chapter Warnings: Misogyny, grumpy Walter, general police investigation discussion, social work, mention of failed relationships.

Disclaimers: I do not own Walter Marshall, Night Hunter (Nomis), or any other characters from that movie, but I do own this OFC (Alexandra Pierce) and these words. Do not repost as your own. Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are more than welcome. It’s how I get my nourishment.

Header made by me, with pics found from Pexel.com and the internet. Dividers are not mine, but check out the masterlist for credit.

Playlist:  Night Moves Songs 4 -7  Direct Spotify link here.

Masterlist

Well even if I didn’t have plans, I clearly can’t go out on patrol again for a while. Fuck. I went too far the other night. I just couldn’t control myself again. I've been doing so well lately.

But all these harlots, wandering the streets in their slutty little outfits, acting like we owe them something. Acting like they shouldn’t just be home, taking care of someone. Someone like me. It just gets to me.

It took so long to finally find someone who wanted to be mine. Years of hiding, years of swallowing the truth of what I know about who these cunts are, acting like I fit in. 

She’ll never know. About me. About where I really come from. About what I really do. But I'm gonna keep doing it. They deserve it. They all need to learn their lessons. 

That’s all it was ever supposed to be, no matter how many times I slipped. Just a lesson. A reminder that they aren’t the hot shit that they think they are. A push in the right direction. If I could get even one dumb bitch off the street, it would all be worth it.

But that last trick. She had a real fuckin’ mouth on her. Stupid girl. See what it gets you? Acting like you’re better than me? You aren’t better than me. You know it now, don’t you? 

And then that little asshole showed up so all I could do was hide the body and scram. Good thing he didn’t see too much. If she’d been found sooner, I could be in trouble. Still, I wanted to move her somewhere more private. Stick her with her cunty friends. 

Bitch.

“So tell me again why no one’s been looking for this guy when we know where he likes to hunt? I get it, the sketches aren’t much to go on, but fuck!” Walter slams the files on Rachel’s desk, leaning with his fists on the dark wood top and staring the profiler directly in the face. 

“Lieutenant Marshall, Walter, you… you know that’s not my call,” Rachel sighs with exasperation.

“Yeah, but you can strongly recommend…”

“Walter, this is going to get us nowhere. What do you want me to do now? Because at this moment, there is no search and the longer we argue about why there wasn’t one in the first place, the more opportunity someone has to repeat a crime. So can we cut to the chase? Please?”

Walter jerks his head back with a little shake, as if he can’t believe what he’s just heard.

“Alright then, I want you to review the details in these files and put out a BOLO. And I want you to get the commander to start a task force.”

“And I suppose you also have some ideas about who should be on that force?” Rachel quirks an eyebrow in question.

“Yes, right. I’m taking Jonas and we're going to canvasse the clubs to see if anyone knows someone missing who could be the tracks victim.”

Rachel drags the pile of folders her way, grabs the first file, and flips it open to begin scanning for details. “Sorry, how are these cases related?” 

“Read the descriptions of the attacks,” Walter nods his head toward the file in Rachel’s hand. “Almost to a tee, they are exactly the same. Except for the locations. Remote, disused bus stops. Little, or sometimes no lights from street lamps that have been reported out for three months or more. Late night. Victims say they had just missed the second to last bus of the evening, so they can’t walk away because if they miss the next one, they have to hail a cab and can’t afford the fare across town to their apartments. And then…”

“And then, jesus,” Rachel interrupts. “What the fuck? This guy starts taunting them, trying to goad them into a fist fight? In the middle of the night with no one around? No provocation?”

“Right. And our Jane Doe at the tracks was beat up. To a pulp. Like her face doesn’t exist anymore. Not in any recognizable way. We’re gonna have to hope her DNA is in the system, or look for dental records or something, to identify her.”

“So you think this guy is escalating?” Rachels asks as she grabs the second file to confirm Walter’s story.

“You tell me. You’re the profiler”

“Walter, don’t be a dick. I got these files two minutes ago.”

“You haven’t seen these before? Well, why didn’t you say so before I…?”

“Before you what, barged in here and demanded answers to a question I hadn’t heard yet?” Rachel holds Walter’s gaze with a knowing look and waits for him to back down before she picks up the third file.

Walter picks his fists up from the desk and slumps back into the chair across from Rachel, waiting for her to finish the rest of the files. He crosses his arms across his chest and stretches his booted feet as far forward as he can before they are stopped by her desk. 

His gaze shifts to the floor as he contemplates the change he’s seen in Rachel over the past year and a half. She’s grown so much more confident than when she first joined the precinct. Several more quick wins had solidified her stature with the department and while he always maintained a professional demeanor at the office, away he could do nothing but watch her slip through his fingers the way Angie had. He admired the strength of these women in his life, but something was always just a little off and he could never put his finger on it. He wanted to trust them, but how could he when he didn’t even trust himself?

Walter returns his gaze to Rachel when he hears the thud of the final file back to the pile.

“Yeah, okay. But you know, Commander’s gonna want it small. This guy is wearing a ski mask, which ought to stick out here in the spring, But this isn’t tourists or ladies who lunch or university kids. This is..”

“Hookers. Yeah. I know. Doesn’t mean they don’t deserve a fairer shot. Doesn’t mean they should have to walk around in fear for their safety just because this is the way they have to make a living. We good here?” Walter stands and waits for Rachel to nod before nodding back and rounding the chair to leave her office.

“And Walter? For the record, and for what it's worth, I agree.”

Walter half-turns back to accept her olive branch with a heavy sigh, nods once again toward Rachel, and leaves for real this time.

He stops by Mick’s desk and tells him they’ll meet up at 9 at the first club on the list. Early enough the smaller opening crowds should make it easier to take some of the dancers’ time without too much fuss from management.

For now, he has a dinner date with Faye.

“Alex!” Hannah exclaimed. “Thank goodness you’re here. We have a stack of new boxes of pamphlets that need sorting and then the meeting starts in 20. Do you have time to sort out the other volunteers and maybe get someone to run for donuts and coffee?”

Alexandra nodded with a big smile, leaning in to give Hannah a hug before turning to survey the small group of undergrads who showed up at her request. They were all in the one undergraduate level course she agreed to teach during spring semester. In return, her doctorate advisor agreed to her thesis subject and to keep quiet about the way she planned to gather her research. At least until the paper was written and her thesis defense was heard, at which time no one would be in the dark about her time at the club. 

She sent one of her crew off to the donut shop and explained to the rest how to sort and stack the handouts, where to replenish the displays, and where to store the rest of the stock. When the meeting began, she waited for Hannah to introduce her once again, knowing there are always new women who come for support or information. She smiled widely as she thanked Hannah and stood to take the podium. She was professional as she provided information about STD’s, the best ways to prevent them, and where to find the free clinics that can help with diagnoses and medication. 

But her eyes scanned the crowd. It was a larger turnout than normal, which would give her an opportunity to meet some new women and hopefully enlist them for supporting interviews. She glanced back and forth several times, hoping she was just tired and missing a face. Not that she’d ever mistake Trixie’s face. 

The fact of the matter was, Trixie wasn’t here. Clinic visits were a time to check in with Trixie in a place where she felt safer and was more open to suggestions on where to turn for help, financial or otherwise. It wasn’t like her to not show at a meeting. And it had been a few days since she’d shown up at the club. Which wasn’t necessarily a concern. 

Except Alex knew Trixie was light on funds and would never miss shifts at the club, especially when doing so meant you might not pick up those shifts again. Alex had not forgotten the last conversation they’d had when she stopped by the police station the morning before to report her missing. She also couldn’t forget the way the officer taking her statement had shifted into judgment as soon as the story of who Trixie was and what she was likely doing the last time Alex had seen her came out. They’d given Alex the time of day because she showed up in civilian clothes and presented as a professional with university credentials. But a hooker not showing up for her stripping shift? Who cared?

Alex made up her mind before even finishing her community service spiel - she’d head to the station again and demand they follow up on her missing person report as soon as her clinic shift was over.

Walter tosses back the last of the coffee in his thermos before turning off the engine and heading into the precinct. He spent five hours last night hitting up clubs and speaking with women on the street, three of which were after he sent Mick home for some rest. He stared at the case files again for another two hours when he got home. His late arrival is going to be noticed, but detectives rarely keep regular hours when a case is new.

He and Mick spend the day calling the assault victims, checking to see if they can remember anything else about their attacker that didn’t make it into the file. The results are a nice mixed bag of voicemail boxes and apologies. Nothing new to go on. 

He grabs another mug of coffee from the kitchen and walks down to the file room to check if any more possible case matches have shown up in the database. The clerk tells him there are two.

“They’re just retrieving them now. I’m headed on break as soon as they get here. I can drop ‘em on your desk on the way out so you don’t need to wait.”

“That’d be great,” Walter thanks him and heads over to Rachel’s office to confirm the rest of the details about the task force the captain agreed to. 

They discuss a delay in confirming the ID of their Jane Doe, since the partials didn’t come out too clean and the coroner’s report mentioned the finger pads had been shaved off. Walter missed that on his cursory glance at the head when he visited the crime scene and he kicks himself mentally for the slip up. 

They’ll have to rely on the results of the blood and DNA work to match her if she’s in the system. That’ll be a few more days at least because no one is rushing this case officially. No rich daddy breathing down the commissioners neck or distraught mother pleading her case on national television. 

No, no one cares about who this woman was. But Walter does. He and Rachel flag a few more detectives to help with canvassing and Rachel says she’ll fill them in.

“You look tired already, Walter.”

“It’s nothing new,” he scoffs.

“True, but this case is new. Don’t burn yourself out already.”

His eyes search hers, looking for something deeper to match the intimate feeling he gets from her knowing comment, but all he sees is the friendship she offered him when it was over. He thinks this is good, since he’s mostly over it, too.

He’s ready to pack it in for the day. Mick’s already left to get some sleep before heading out again tonight. Walter holds the door open for a nice looking woman on his way out and she gives him a cautious smile in thanks.

He stops on the sidewalk to make a quick call to Faye and see if they’re still on for pizza this weekend. She’s chatting his ear off about some party or another she’s been invited to and he can’t make heads or tails if she does or doesn’t want to go so it’s another ten minutes before he can get her off the phone with a promise to have breakfast with him on Sunday instead.

He’s all the way in the truck before he remembers the files he left on his desk. He wanted to bring them home and compare them with the rest. So he climbs back down and does a light jog across the parking lot to retrieve it.

There’s a commotion in the detective’s bull pen and he notices the woman again. He can see she’s not happy. He hears Rachel offer the woman a chair and ask her to sit and cool down.

“You think I’m out of control?” the woman shouts. “Baby, you watch me freak out!” She shoves the chair out of her way and storms out of the building, breezing past Walter in the process.

“Walter!” Rachel calls to him as soon as she notices he’s stepped back into the building. “Stop her!”

But Walter’s running on about four hours of sleep that even the strongest coffee all day long isn’t helping, so his reflexes are slow. By the time he turns around and wrenches the door open, the only thing he sees is a shitty Nissan Sentra peeling out of the lot. Bold moves right in front of the station, but he reckons it’s technically going the speed limit by the time the car breaks at the corner and then turns out of sight. Nobody else is shuffling around, so he turns to go back inside.

“What the fuck was that?”

Chapter 3

Taglist:

Anything: @kittenofdoomage @mayloma @sillyrabbit81 @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990  @mysweetlittledesire @summersong69 @mollymal (I can’t tag you two, sorry) (Also throwing in a few from the old days for old times sake ;) @littlegreenplasticsoldier @anotherwinchesterfangirl @sebbytrash @feelmyroarrrr)

Night Moves: @luclittlepond (I can’t tag you, sorry) @enchantedbytomandhenry @kingliam2019  @henryownsme @geraltsyenn4eva @littlefreya @identity2212 @marantha @angelcavill66 @sweetdreamsofgelato

[open-hearth-rpg]

Safety: Great RPG Mechanics #RPGMechanics Week Nine

One of the greatest things about modern rpg gaming is that the issue of safety has become a great filter. Beyond the actual application of safety tools, it has become accepted and conventional to the point that a game has to make a deliberate choice not to discuss that in some way, particularly for any material moving towards edginess, horror, etc. If a game goes into problematic areas but doesn’t address those issues, someone has made a deliberate decision. 

And that’s something which has changed over the last decade and it makes me super happy. Just a few years ago Free League publish Mutant: Elysium, a game where you effectively play fascist, human-supremacist, state tools who engage in ongoing PVP and player betrayal. Imagine Paranoia without the humor and more jackboots. And the only nod to the potential problems with this was a passage that said, yes players might get mad at one another and if that happened you should probably stop the game and talk about it. 

Weak sauce. 

Or another game, written in part by creators I respect, which covered a licensed property with a strong ethnic element, including a history of white co-opting, which had no talk about cultural issues in play, culture sensitivity, the challenges of playing characters from that culture. It boggled my mind at the time– but it was just far enough back I could squint my eyes and hold my nose. I like to think people would point out that absence today– or more likely that oversight wouldn’t have happened. 

So when a ttrpg doesn’t have any discussion of boundaries, talking to the table, or handling safety– especially with tough themes– that’s a good filter– it moves it down in the likelihood of actually spending the effort to bring it to the table. I appreciate too when slightly older games start to address these issues in later supplements. More recent Star Trek Adventures publications like the Players & Gamemasters’ Guides and the Lowers Deck Sourcebook have called out theme and issues which could be a problem at tables (eugenics, suicide, death) and suggested way to talk about these with the table.   

And here’s the thing I’m going to be brutally honest about. I thought safety tools were dumb when I first heard about them in the abstract. My immediate reaction was to go into grumpy GM mode, worrying about people talking away my autonomy as a GM. I thought up straw man arguments based on how imaginary players could use these to break or derail a game. I was an asshole about it. But then I started to see people actually railing about it and invariably they were people I considered asshole GMs. And I started to ask myself AITA?

More importantly I started to actually see and interact with these things in play. That really showed me how dumb I’d been about the whole thing. But two things sealed the deal for me. First I had a player I’d played with for close to two decades, a big, buff dude stop a game. He said: enough with the spiders. He finally told me that he was phobic, really badly phobic and sketched out an incident as a child. It had always stressed him out, had made him quit games, but he’d never said anything. We’d played together for years and years and I hadn’t known and he hadn’t said and it had made some of his time at the table really awful. 

I see GMs say “my group has played together for years and never needed…” Yeah, f*ck you. I’m willing to bet there’s someone who had an evening ruined or quit your table because of that. And don’t get me started on the “we always had girls at the table and they never had a problem with it” line. Someone did and they felt like they had to get along and keep their mouth shut. But that’s an older generation of gamers– my generation of dinosaurs and the generation which followed us. I am genuinely grateful that the needle has moved and these kinds of discussions have become commonplace and accepted. 

The second event which completely changed my take on this was at Gen Con running a late-night Saturday session for Game on Demand in 2017. A group of five sat down, four guys and a young woman. They were clearly a friend group who had been playing together for three days. I set up the game and then I went through the X-Card with the table. And I looked up at the young woman and saw a look which I can only describe as “thank f*cking god.” She didn’t know me, but she realized there was a chance that I wasn’t a total asshole. 

So yeah, safety tools are one of the greatest modern meta-mechanics to facilitate play. I love reading how different games provide resources. On Open Hearth we ask that GMs use a layered set of tools for all sessions: Lines & Veils, the X-Card, and Open Door. Each has a different purpose and role. GMs have leeway to swap some of these out for other tools they’re more comfortable with but most people use these three because they’re accessible and work. 

The best games spend some time discussing how these tools work in the context of the game and how to implement them. Safety tools aren’t a band-aid, the game facilitator and the table as a whole has to be aware of how to resolve situations using those tools. That can be a challenge and good games illustrate those techniques. There has to be follow through. 

A couple of recent games have solid safety sections. #iHunt uses its own structure and lays things out pretty thoroughly. It also spends time talking about its philosophy regarding safety. Apocalypse Keys has a great three pages which tightly lay out the concepts of the game’s Green, Yellow, and Red approach. I’m biased but I think Hearts of Wulin also does a pretty good job– it combines a CATS explanation, safety tools, and some cultural notes. 

But it wasn’t as good when I first sketched it out. It took time to develop some of those ideas– with influence from Agatha Cheng and James Mendez Hodes for the cultural discussion. Other concepts came from feedback. Hearts of Wulin offers romantic action melodrama. I knew I wanted to make clear that players should consider gender and sexuality fluid in play. But a playtester pointed out that the structure of mandatory romantic entanglements pushed out aromantic characters. 

And again I’m going to cop to being dumb here. My first reaction was “well, it is a game about romance so that’s key to the genre.” But on reflection I realized how limiting and potentially alienating that could be. It didn’t take changing the rules to fix. I just added in language about how players who wanted Ace or aromantic characters could do that. They could swap out a romantic entanglement for a general one or they could read “romantic” as a strong bond of friendship, care, or devotion. 

I’m ranging wildly in this because so much of table culture and play management circles around the broader concept of safety. It’s not an onerous thing and the care spent here pays back. It includes a lot of elements: active tools, collaboration, consent, check ins, establishing boundaries, and beyond. For example I stress that players should identify pronouns for themselves and their characters. In play they should also take care to get those right and make corrections when applicable. 

I love this for a couple of reasons, but most importantly the one I talked about at the start of this. Using pronouns makes fascists, TERFS, and the like really mad. It’s a great filter for them. Every couple of months I’ll get a comment on one of my actual play videos. Most recently I got this one on a Dune session zero: “wow, this is the first time I've stopped viewing RPG content after just 5 seconds. however it is a must, after hearing the application of the pronouns after the presentation."

All I can say is good, die mad about it. 

[stasisarbiter]

Tis time for the big cutscene

The maid-in-waiting is super sketch I assume this is about her abdication? Yup

FUCKING CALLED IT, oh we’re so getting framed for this shit huh. Fucking Teledji Adeledji I’m pretty sure the WoL could kill all of these guards in 0 seconds flat but cutscene syndrome I guess.

Imagine being dumb enough to talk that much shit within sword distance.

It was never gonna happen but I kind of wished Gridania and Limsa declared war on Ul’dah. Would obviously be shitty for the Ul’dahn people but seriously idk what the traitors were thinking.

I knew you were the fuckin’ rat Ilberd. Gods I wish Lolorito died too, hated him since the culinarian questline Man I liked Raubahn, wish cutscene syndrome didn’t prevent us from kicking the traitor’s teeth in with him. Who tf are they even working for? Unless it’s the literal Ascians I don’t see how anyone thought this was a good plan making the literal god slayer go against you.

Hooray we’re fugitives! I mean we’re totally going to Ishgard right? Ser Aymeric is our friend (kinda) and we have nowhere else to go, Ul’dah is out and the Crystal Braves have everywhere else covered. I rather like Yda and Papalymo, I hope they don’t die but it seems likely. Minfilia we gotta move ffs. They’re not dead yet

In the sewers baby! Even more splitting the party, I hope Y’shtola and Thancred don’t die either Ah yes Thancred the fuckboy until the end (he might still live tho) Also I noticed it in the last few quests but man whoever is Minfilia’s EN Voice is just drifting in and out of the accent at random and it’s really distracting What even is Y’shtola? Some kind of caster clearly Who Mhitra? and that looks way more like death than Yda and Papalymo

We splitting up from Minfilia too apparently. Man Maerwyn would be fucking pissed at this point, time to raze Ul’dah to the ground.

Oh yeah Alphinaud exists, he made it out somehow, who’s the tato? Oh hey it’s the guy! from the intro! his name’s Brendt apparently, funny you recognized me considering I’m an Elezen now lol. Alisaie to the rescue apparently. Nice to meet ya Pipin

Hopefully this humbles Alphinaud a bit, tbh he kind of got on my nerves a bit near the end, everything was going this way and he was really cocky about everything, the thing that comes to mind is asking the Alliance for help for Ishgard, as far as I see it the 3 leaders were in the right, saving Ishgard is obviously good but you can’t just leave your own countries undefended.

Ay Cid, to Ishgard we go! I feel like I should know who Pipin’s dad is, but I don’t, hope to see Pipin again he seems tight.

Speaking of Haurchefaunt he seems like he’s into the WoL, or maybe I’m reading into it? Doesn’t help my WoL is a female Elezen.

The Falling Snows it is. Companions? Did other people make it here then?

Ah there’s a second set of long cutscenes apparently, this is already getting a bit lengthy so I think I shall make a 2nd read more post. Away we go!

[jack-bytez-genuine-corner]

Dear Tumblr diary,

I had to make a Instagram and Threads in an attempt to follow con artists I've met and bought things from, but in doing so I have to interact with a social media that sucks and only wants to show me women "Working out" in the skimpiest attire imaginable with their gazoingas hanging out and not at all supported, which isn't just bad form that can get you injured but I'm gay and therefore am terrified of big boobs. Jokes aside it sucks as I already pine for the days when I first joined Tumblr and learned it had basically negative levels of coding for a recommendation feed but instead just drip feeds me content from people I already follow. Also you have to request to follow some people on Instagram? I'm not trying to be their friend I'm just trying to read any important updates they put out so I can toss what little money I can spare at them to keep them afloat. (As a side note I do have a fear of big breasts a little. I have no clue if that's a weird fear but I got it and I'll never understand it. I've started to learn to like big chested guys though so that's good but it's dumb.)

On another note I did a full body nude sketch of an anthro lamb that turned out VERY well. I don't really see many anthro lambs as so many artists draw them very cute and innocent and closer to the source but I just drew a dude and stapled a lamb head on him and I think it turned out very well for furry art and for my first full body sketch in over 6 years. I had to relearn all my 2D art stuff cause I got hit by some crap around my time in art college that made me hang up the pen until this last month ish.

I'm very happy that my friends, family and husband are all giving me much more of the support I'd like from art which is more than just "Ok" or "Cool" which definitely gives me that rush to keep going, but the core difference is that I'm far more accepting of my "Bad art" than I was even I was 18. Art to me is just about the process and making now and that brings joy, rather than grandiose ideals or dreams. I guess my pessism from having long COVID and brain fog has made me bury my dreams which let's me enjoy the present far more.

The Cult of the Lamb comic is insanely good so far and I feel like it's doing a great job of fleshing out every aspect of the characters but most notably I do like how terrifying and authority driven the lamb can be while also being extremely kind, really playing with both aspects of the potential read on the game's "Morality." I still have a couple con comic books to read ala Quested but I'm also going to read Kid Venom just cause I think more of these very western properties should hand them out to people in other countries to do their own spin. I talk about it with my dad a lot but getting an Idian film studio or Korean film studio to make a Star Wars movie or show would be really neat given just how much raw talent they have and how they might approach these concepts from a different cultural lens, especially since foreign stuff is taking off in the West due to how much desire people have to see and experience something new that isn't just made by us in America. Like get the people who made Monkey Man to make an hour and a half lone Jedi revenge story or something could be awesome.

Other than all that I'm about 3.75ish years into Long COVID brain fog with zero relief coming so that sucks as it made me quit college right before I had my associates while stopping me from working at all. Given how shtty the job market is with scams and fake job listings I can't really tell if that's a blessing or a curse. Hopefully I won't be like this forever, but I guess it's fine if I am too.

I'm wishing you all the best,

Jack

[lemongingerart]

So, first, a technical announcement: for some reason, the reblog doesn't work on my phone for part 1 (I suspect it's the insanely long chapter 🥰), but I desperately want to comment on it, so I'm doing it on chapter 2. I haven't read chapter 2 yet but will do so soon, and probably reblog this one again with fresh comments!

@anatee , girl, how by all stars did you blurt out this first part in all its perfection? I couldn't stop reading it, but alas, I have kids and food to prepare, so the whole thing took me half a day to finish but damn it was worth it!

Already a few paragraphs far, I had this strange feeling which I've never encountered before. Somehow, it felt as if I was reading my own writing. And I mean this in a good way, not in the impostor like way 😅 and I don't want to make this comment about me, but I just… this really never happened to me before! And, the weirdest part is that I recognize myself both in the way your sentences are built, so, more style-wise, as the characterisation of reader in this chapter, which is very close to how I try to depict my OC! The sexual tension building, the banter, Hux using stars and reader using kriff, the focus on the gloves, the greatcoat, the Tarine tea!!! so recognizable!

And, while it was a bit weird at first, I also realized that I thoroughly enjoyed your fic. Like. I was absolutely part of your universe, felt every emotion and suspense. I drowned in their emotions, begged for them to go on. Hoped for all of the things happening and you delivered. And somehow that gave me energy to finish up my next chapter and finally publish those 30k 😬😂 in the meanwhile - should anyone read this, that enjoyed my first arc of 'chocolate cookies and tarine tea' - go and give this fic a read and you won't be disappointed!

More importantly, there were a few things that made me smile ridiculously wide till my cheeks hurt: the glove exchange (let's describe it like this, without spoiling too much), the smell of him on her hand (hooo boy that did more than make me smile alone), the way he speaks to her in double meaning towards her but especially to the other officers, it was all just perfect! *chef's kiss*

That addictive but hard to maintain balance between Hux being a power hungry asshole and him being a walking -and madly in love- disaster, mwaaahhhh 😘😘😘 and the way they still verify their consent, making it a more balanced relationship even though the rank difference constantly popping up, both seriously as in their banter… you handle all of it so well!

Oh, and that coat scene… I swear we're on the same wavelength here, I have an old dirty sketch of that laying around ah ah ah eh eh I don't feel ashamed at all (but also… the energy of that coat…. I NEED IT!!!)

Thank you as well for realistic smut. This is important to me, to such a point it always holds me back to write it myself. But these scenes felt so… right. Just, nothing threw me off balance, felt every touch both ways and it was hard to keep the dumb look off my face. I shouldn’t have read this around the kids but you know, I couldn't stop…

A minor thing. Since it's so deliciously long, it was hard to get a mental break sometimes. This is probably very personal, but a few chapter titles in between might slice the whole chunk for me and made it more manageable to decide on taking a break 😂 I haven’t checked your AO3, maybe you already did there. I'm not thinking about revealing tirles or anything (I know how hard titles can be), just something to visually cut it in pieces. Anyway, this was meant in a constructive way so I hope you take it that way!

Before I stop making sense, I'm going to start reading part 2 and fall asleep with it 😊

INSUFFERABLE | General Hux x Reader Smut | pt. 2

INSUFFERABLE | General Hux x Reader Smut. 18+. MINORS DNI. Wrote a part 2 because I am obsessed with him. This is a direct continuation.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Word count: 12.9K

Content warning: fem!reader x Hux; smut but in this part not too much, slight dom/sub implications, slight power kink one might say, soft, fluffy, angsty, overprotective Hux as well, mentioning injuries and period (but no period sex dw)

Lees verder

[eldstunga]

Rynn’s showing off again - Remember to polish your sketches needlessly, folks.

[pa1nkill3r]

"Now How Come I've Only Found Out About This Now?" [G.W]

[Pairing:] George Weasley x Fem!Artist!Reader

[Summary:] So far, George Weasley knows three things about his new potions partner; So why not make it four? Or five?

[Warnings:] use of mudblood, a bit of angst, a bit of swearing, a pov change at some point in the end, idk-- fluff?? (is that a warning??)

[Word Count:] ≈2.7k

[A/N:] i used @buckystrenchcoat 's fluff plots for george weasley: 2. George finding out you can draw (kind of got carried away but oh well :D--) (ps just imagine that classes in hogwarts includes all of the houses together, thanks <3) Y/H = your house. (dk the timeline or what year george and the reader are in but i'd say between 3rd-5th year)

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The Weasley twins were becoming reckless and apparently, Professor Snape has had enough. The constant explosions on the other side of the dungeon and the numerous attempts at drowning his hair with shampoo has eventually led him to the decision of assigning the entire class their partners.

Thus halfway into the semester, the Weasley twins are never to be seen together again... that is until the end of 2nd period where they will go back and cause mischief elsewhere.

Fred was assigned to a Slytherin girl who George couldn't figure out if she's madly in love with his brother or wants to rip out his guts. While he on the other hand was assigned with Y/N. Truthfully, he never gave much thought to her, but after their first double potions lesson as partners, he began to wonder why he never gave much thought to her.

She was smart but never overbearing, made jokes here and there, sniggered when he made even the cheesiest of puns, and is wicked attractive. Their first task was to brew a calming draught and whilst adding in a smidge more of lavender, she proposed that they should make more while the majority of the class was still struggling.

"Why in Merlin's beard are we going to make more? We can just pass this and leave class early?" He asked, bringing a smile to her lips. "Yeah, yeah, that's what you want, don't you Weasley?" She quipped, looking back up to the red-headed boy who's now readying their vials.

"Just thought that we could make some for people, like, your brother. Poor guy, reckon he's going to rip his hair out getting partnered with Tuttle." And with that, George let out a laugh, a laugh that cost Gryffindor 5 points. Though, all was well when they were the first to finish and send their little vial of calming draught into the hands of Severus Snape, garnering 5 points each and an opportunity to leave class 10 minutes early.

And that was it, that was their relationship; potions partners.

George Weasley learned 2 things that day. One, his potions partner was someone he wanted to know more, to be with more, and two, one should never put a liberal amount of peppermint in a calming draught. (Fred learned that the hard way.)

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She was the epitome of beauty and brains. So far, that's what he knew about his potions partner. But a little incident in the corridor made two into three.

It wasn't unusual for Fred and George Weasley to skip class, especially if the class was History of Magic. And it also wasn't unusual for them to hide behind a tapestry whilst a stinky dungbomb was set in the first-floor corridor.

What was unusual though, was George not wanting to move from their hiding place, forcing Fred to also not move. "George, mate, wha-?" "SHH!"

Whatever Fred's question was supposed to be, it quickly got answered by the presence of a certain someone whose walking to the Muggle Studies classroom, his brother's potions partner perhaps? Fred grinned mischievously, nudging his brother in the abdomen, and earning a wince.

"Oi mudblood! Was that you?" They heard from a distance, heavy footsteps following the girl he's teasing his brother with. From their point of view, they could tell that the girl stopped in her tracks, sighing heavily as though this was a regular thing.

"Was that me, what?" She asked, clearly annoyed. "Was that you who did it? Or d'you just shat yourself? It smells horrid. Would make sense, as you're a filthy little mudblood."

George's blood was beginning to boil, fingers formed into a fist, knuckles white. Especially when they got to see the silhouette of the two arguing. Perfect, Winnifred Tuttle, his brother's potions partner bullying his Y/N Y/L/N. He had an urge to protect her. To avenge her. To show her how much he cared for someone who's supposed to be his potions partner.

"Was that supposed to be an insult, Tutts?" Y/N spat back, pulling George out of his trance and making Fred shut his mouth. Now he's the one staring intently. "It's honestly just sad. A 'pureblood' like you should know the difference between a dungbomb and a piece of shit. Or perhaps you're probably just that daft?"

The boys were fixated on their conversation now. A hand on their mouths, hopefully covering up their shock even if they're hiding behind a tapestry. George's heart was beating faster now.

"Me? Daft? Well, if I'm daft then why are you taking muggle studies?" Tuttle sneered, an ugly grin splattered across her face.

"Bit hypocritical, isn't it, Winnie? Bye-bye!" She turned her back away from the Slytherin now, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom, holding a few books in one hand and her middle finger in the other.

He knows three things about her now; She's bewitching, she's a whizz, and she's a muggle-born who doesn't take shit.

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A few more lessons in and one could say that Y/N and George are starting to become friendlier to each other. Acquaintances, sure, but, friendly nonetheless. But the Gryffindor wanted to live up to its name, to its values. He might've just gotten to know a bit about her but he was completely and utterly entranced.

Nothing's going to stop him now.

His right hand held his wand as he stirred the concoction in the cauldron. She, on the other hand, was cutting up the stewed mandrake. The easy silence between them was broken by none other than the lion himself.

"Hey," he called, lifting his gaze from the potion to the girl right next to him. "Hi." She said back.

"So... Today's a Friday, right?"

She looked at him, confused, recounting a particular time in which she looked at a calendar today. "Yeah, I think so."

"And we can go to Hogsmeade after classes?"

"Pretty sure you can, why?"

"Want to go on a date?"

She looked stunned which kind of hurt George's ego but as soon as the slightly parted mouth of hers became a cheerful grin, he felt a whole lot better.

"As long as you stop staring at me and not over mix our potion, then sure, I'll go out with you." She smiled, making George give a shy little grin back before attempting to put all his concentration on the brew. Mind boggled on the way she said 'our potion.'

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Going to Muggle Studies felt utterly useless now that Y/N's been promised to go on a date right after. But having George by her side, walking her to the class just seemed to be the best part of the day.

He recounted the time when he and Fred hid behind a tapestry and told Y/N all about it, giving a hot feeling to her cheeks. They stopped by the door frame of the classroom, Professor Burbage was waiting inside, pacing around her study as George's hand slyly held Y/N's.

"I'll pick you up later?" He asked with the same shy smirk plastered on his face, cheeks pink and ears flushed. "Yeah. Thanks for walking me here. You shouldn't have." She uttered, heels rising and falling as she bounced on her toes.

"Just making sure that Tuttsy's not going to ruin your day, love." Y/N felt heat rising to her cheeks and ears, as well as an uncontrollable grin. Her heel turned to make her face the concrete walls of the castle, hands covering their face and body slightly swaying from side to side. It was ridiculous, really. Dumb. Very.

"You're adorable when you're flustered."

"Shut up, Weasley." And with that, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him slightly startled, stunned, and very red in the face. "You're adorable when you're flustered." She quipped, walking into the Muggle Studies classroom and taking her seat.

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Muggle Studies felt oddly slow that day. Usually, it lasted an hour but today it felt like a century. Professor Burbage's talk about electricity and muggle technology went in one ear and out the other.

If you'd ask why Y/N chose a subject she already knew plenty about, her answer would be that she wanted to see things from a different perspective. But truthfully, she just knew that she'd be good at it and it'd be an easy O.

So there she was; A scrap piece of parchment laid on the wooden desk and a pen since Professor Burbage discouraged the use of quills.

Her mind wandered off the moment she sat down on her chair. Feet either bouncing up and down or stuck straight onto the floor, she wouldn't know. What she did remember was her non-dominant hand posing itself as the other one scribbled on the piece parchment.

Her fingers played with the hazy light and the ink added depth. Soon she started sketching other things; The student in front of her, a study of Professor Burbage, a head with a moderately strong jaw and beautiful, short, messy hair. A male side profile with a big nose that has a slight bump on its bridge matching a cheeky grin with dimples. Her hand posed itself once more but this time she wasn't making it look like hers, she was making it look like his. Something she's seen many times before, and guiltily stared at once, twice, more than she could recount.

She was adding in the cluster of freckles when the worst happened; "Miss Y/L/N, still with us?" Professor Burbage stood at the front of the class, standing straight, clearly thinking about her posture. "Miss Y/L/N?"

She felt an elbow nudge her arm, and that was the thing that brought her back into reality. Her head whipped itself to face her seatmate then to her Professor, giving her a funny-looking nervous grin.

"Charm would get you nowhere, Miss Y/L/N. When was the first electricity generator introduced in Britain? And where was it installed?" She has to have something in that brain of hers. It must've been taught sometime when she was in muggle school. "Err-- 1900s something, Surrey--?"

Professor Burbage meekly chuckled, "Nice try. 1881. Godalming, Surrey. A point from Y/H then, I'm sorry."

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George was faithful and stuck to his word. Even being 5 minutes early after asking Professor Grubbly-Plank if he could go to the bathroom and have a wee, saying that the unicorns would definitely mind if he pissed on their trees.

He did not go to the bathroom but instead went straight to the Muggle Studies classroom. Leaning the side of his body onto the wall by the door. Trying his best to peer into the room and find his potions partner and soon to be his date and maybe even his. But he was getting ahead of himself.

The bell rang and he heard a loud shuffling sound of chairs being pulled back. The door was opened as students from all of the houses started pouring out and there she was. Looking beautiful as ever with her bag slung on her shoulder.

"Glad to see you're alright there, dove." He cooed, earning once again another shy smile. "Anything happened there?" He asked, pointing to the now open classroom.

"Felt way longer than usual, and I lost a house point." She said matter of factly. George chuckled, his heart filled with pride as he turned his head towards her.

"And what have you done to lose said house point?"

She smiled before reaching her hand into a pocket of her robes, pulling out a folded piece of aged parchment before handing it to the curious redhead.

"What's this? A love letter?" He bantered. "Just open it." And so he did. His nimble fingers unfolding the parchment, then he was stunned. Seeing his face drawn in ink with lines crossing over more lines was the last thing he expected. It looked like him. And it didn't look like Fred. It is him.

"I was just drawing in class but then I sort of blanked out and got a dumb question wrong." She paused, looking back up to see if the redhead was still listening. "Hello? Earth to George?"

"You drew me?" He was on a fine line of disbelief and awe. It truly looked amazing. She drew her hand at least three times before he recognized his was also there. She even got the little freckle he had on the middle of his wrist. The full body of ol' Professor Burbage brought so much of her energy and even the way her scarf wrapped around her neck was perfect.

Her cheeks were heating up again, realizing what she just did. "It's not that good. Just-- drew what I saw and, err-- whatever came to mind, I guess." Bad execution, sloppy excuse. "Okay, you've been looking at that for way too long now--"

"This looks bloody brilliant! Now how come I've only found out about this now?"

"Flattery would get you nowhere, Weasley." She joked, but he was serious.

"S'not 'flattery' if I'm stating what's true! It's amazing, you're amazing." She felt her heartbeat increase by a mile.

"Well then, I'm flattered." She said, adjusting the strap of her bag to hopefully let out some adrenaline. "And to answer your question, it'd be terrifying if I just started drawing in Snape's class. I swear that man has eyes at the back of his head. That's why this is a new discovery for you."

"Fuck, this is amazing!" He uttered.

"It's really not that good--"

"'S'really not that good' Some shit standards you have there. I'd put this in a museum!" He said loudly, extending both his arms and imagining that the piece of parchment was displayed on the Hogwarts walls. "If you don't like it then I'll keep it." George joked, expecting disapproval, which, to his shock, never came.

"Are you actually giving this to me?"

She shrugged, "I mean if you'd like a photo of you drawn by a teenage girl then be my guest." He smiled, genuinely smiled. He looked so pretty at that moment and there shouldn't be any holding back now.

"...But," She started, his gaze looked intently at her, ready to listen to whatever comes next. "There's a price."

"Between Freddie and I, we have 26 galleons and a few sickles." He said, earning a hearty laugh and a shake of her head. "Don't really think he'd like me to give all of it to you, I'm sorry. If you want I'd pay a bit then I--"

"No, George." She said, tugging lightly on his tie to gain his attention. "How about... a kiss? Perhaps?"

He grinned. His hand hovered itself across her face before landing on her cheek, thumb gracing itself on its apples, slightly squishing the skin whilst his eyes looked for any signs of discomfort; there was none.

They slowly leaned in, eyes locked on lips before their lips locked onto each other. His lips were slightly chapped but it felt like the softest thing on Earth. He smelled of cinnamon, firewood, gunpowder, and other indescribable scents, but it was nice. It was short but meaningful, gentle, even. His other hand was wrapped around her waist and once again, his thumbs were running up and down whatever part of her body it's laid on.

He learned two more things about the girl that day; she's artistic, and she felt like home.

He never thought there'd be a time in his life where he'd be thankful for Severus Snape. But life goes in unexpected ways.

"If you'd like to tip me then I'm just going to say that I love cauldron cakes." She grinned up at him as they pulled away before settling her face in his chest. George chuckled to himself before wrapping his arms completely on her waist, placing a sweet kiss on the top of her head.

"Yeah, yeah, come on." He said, pulling away to let her shake herself up as he held onto the piece of folded parchment which graced his face, giving it a small peck before putting it in his pocket, patting it three times.

"Better sign that drawing for me, Y/N. How much does an autograph cost?"

"Double the original price—?"

"And the tip?"

"And the tip."

[yarpell]

I'm deeply in love with Visvar, have been ever since I saw your first art of him. May I pick your brains for more about him? Background? What sort of person he is? Have you ever written a fic for him? Any crumbs you feed me and I'll be like

Omg thank you so much I'm happy you like him 🥺 I love that you made a meme for this 😭

Background is, uh, a wip, I'm truly abysmal at creating backstories. I'm sure majority of it wouldn't even be something extraordinary; he was taken to the order at a young age and has grown up on Tython and probably was a total brat to many a frustrated master... I can talk some about what he is like though!

I like calling him a himbo, but that is not entirely true, since himbos are known for being nice. While Visvar is not unkind, he can be quite rash, ridiculously stubborn and blunt, and often comes across as a rude person.

He's also quite ruthless, in a sense that he sees a clear path to a goal and is able to make sacrifaces and be merciless if that’s what it takes. But such a goal is always some greater good and he considers protecting innocent people his most important and probably only duty and calling.

He can pretend he got rid of emotions around other jedi well but the truth is he is quite passionate, quick to anger or laugh, considers all emotions a natural part of life and same goes for desires. He’s just deeply at peace with being a living being with all the flaws that come with it and he is able to draw strength from that inner peace, whereas other jedi could fall if not seeking peace in rejecting passion. He has “rip to those mentally weaker jedi but I’m different” vibes 😭

All in all, he isn't a very good representant of the order. Really, with his passion and pride he’s very very far from a perfect embodiment of the code (and he sure is quick to disagree with some of the code's points).

Yet he would never fall to the dark side due to his natural empathy, desire to protect, incredible mental strength and stubborness. Like, he can't become a sith because he is literally that stubborn to not fall and hates those dramatic bitches 😂  His mental strength surely is partly a result of being quite dumb, like, literally. He doesn't overthink, philosophize, and is annoyingly sure of himself and his path. He doesn’t weep at sacrifaces made on the way to “greater good”, always looks forward. Do you know the theory that dumb people are always happier? "Ignorance is bliss"? Well, yeah, he's an example lol.

Even though he doesn’t reject his feelings, when he fights, there is no passion in that and he never draws power from emotions like a sith would do. During a battle there is literally only the force in his mind and he is at complete harmony with it, it’s almost like a weird state of meditation. Being a miraluka the force was his guide all his life and he is deeply attuned to it.

Couple completely random facts: drives speeders like a maniac, loves listening to music, is 179cm/5′9″, has a weakness for sith purebloods (or just intense and passionate people) 🍅, can’t cook and would live on ready-made meals if left alone, isn’t very good at math (an understatement)

As for fics I only wrote a very small piece with him and Scourge once 👉👈 Real spur of the moment thing from me, I can’t fucking write. have this older sketch to distract you from that fact

"average jedi has sex once a year" factoid is actually just statistical error. average jedi has sex 0 times a year. Jedi Master Visvar, who has sex 400 times a year, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

I'm Yours

Pairing: Kirishima x reader

Warnings: There's kissing. A lot of kissing. Just some teenagers being dumb really. No canon characters were harmed in the making of this fic. I didn't include a cheating aspect since I don't write for that kind of stuff, but there's still some jealous!Kirishima here >:3

Author's Note:

Uhhhh I kinda forgot to make this fluffy . . . .

Thanks to uwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwuwi from Wattpad for requesting! (that's a really fun username hehe)

Enjoy!

-Sugar

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Swamped.

That was the only way he could describe it. Kirishima didn’t think he’d ever been so busy, and he wasn’t the only one.

Finals had the entirety of the hero course stressed, especially the second-years like himself. Between training, doing homework, and going to class, there wasn’t exactly room for being social. Any time he was able to hang out with his friends, they were studying together. Nothing he'd really describe as 'fun'. And that’s what had him feeling the worst about all this.

He’d started dating you a few weeks ago—going on three months now, actually. Things had been going well between the two of you. You liked him and he really liked you, so to him, there hadn't been any type of problem.

Even so, there was something a little unique about your relationship: no one knew about it. You yourself were never one for letting others get too involved in your business. And besides, you also knew the nature of most high school relationships. Maybe you’d announce yourselves as a couple and make a big fuss only to grow tired of the other and end it all within the first month. But clearly, that hadn’t happened.

There was a strange thrill to keeping your relationship a secret; a novelty your boyfriend hadn't expected. Though he wasn’t much for dishonesty, Kirishima practically lived for the stolen glances across the classroom you’d share, and the way he’d sneak you behind the school for impromptu makeout sessions with no one ever the wiser. You were his little secret, and he was yours.

Until it had all come to a grinding halt with the extra schoolwork.

He still tried to make time to spend with you in one of your dorm rooms, but the both of you finally had to admit to yourselves that neither of you could get any work or studying done when you were alone together. And so it was back to study groups; holding hands under the table as either Bakugou or Yaoyorozu went over the newest batch of hero laws that needed to be memorized.

God, how he wished this could all be over. Kirishima just wanted things to be normal again. When was the last time he’d even seen you? He could remember watching the back of your head duck out of the classroom at the end of the day, but after? . . . Nothing.

He frowned at the physics worksheet laid before him, mind wandering to thoughts of you as one of his sharp teeth sunk into the eraser at the end of his pencil. Kirishima supposed he should go check on you later, once he’d finished up his assignments for the evening.

…

“Did you see (L/N) yesterday?”

Kirishima’s ears unconsciously perked up at the sound of your name. He stood with his tray in the lunch line directly behind some of his female classmates. They were chatting amongst themselves as they slowly stepped forward. Kirishima wasn’t generally one to listen in on conversations he wasn’t a part of, but now they’d captured his interest. Had one of them seen him sneaking into your room?

“No, I didn’t,” Uraraka said in response to Ashido. “Is she alright?”

“Of course she is,” the pink-haired girl said, rolling her abnormal black and amber eyes as she reached for a clementine. “Actually, she may be doing more than alright.”

Kirishima swallowed. Uh-oh.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jirou asked, sounding largely uninterested in gossiping about her fellow classmate.

“Well,” Ashido began, bouncing a little on her toes, “I saw her on the tech floor yesterday and you won’t believe who she was talking to.”

“Who?” Jirou asked dryly, probably hoping to get the discussion over with as quickly as possible.

“Kobayashi Tatsuo. The third year,” Mina announced proudly.

The redhead behind them quietly sighed. Thank goodness. They still didn't know.

“And?” Uraraka questioned.

“They were totally flirting!” Ashido said. “(L/N)’s bagged a cute upperclassman boy! They’ll be dating soon, I just know it! If they aren’t already.” She smugly leveled her shoulders, grinning with an odd look of satisfaction.

What?

“I guess that’s good for her,” Jirou commented, picking up her tray from the lunch bar in order to follow her friends to a table.

“I know, right?” Mina said excitedly as they walked off. “And he’s totally cute too! I wish a hot guy would pay attention to me for once.”

Kirishima watched them leave, almost forgetting to grab lunch for himself after being so absorbed in what they were saying.

The majority of him knew he shouldn’t pay any mind to it. This sort of thing was bound to happen. Of course his peers try to figure out who was involved with who, even if it wasn’t really accurate or from the most credible source. The girls didn’t know that you were already taken by someone else, in fact, the very person behind them in line.

At least now he knew where you’d gone after class yesterday . . . but why? What were you doing on the tech floor? And who was this third year you were talking to?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of Kaminari’s voice. Kirishima returned the greeting, sliding into his seat next to his friend. As he settled into the atmosphere of his usual table, he couldn’t help but scan the cafeteria for your face, just as he had done every day, even before you were dating.

But for the first time, his search came up empty. You were nowhere to be seen.

…

Kobayashi wasn’t exactly the person you wanted to be spending your lunch with.

Really, a part of you wondered why you had to skip going to the cafeteria at all today. But then you remembered the stack of work that sat on your desk. It stubbornly refused to ever shrink, no matter what you did. Recently, it felt like as soon as you got one thing done, two more assignments would find their way right back at the bottom. And this was just another one you had to deal with.

While reviewing your materials for your upcoming finals, you’d begun to take note of other heroes’ costumes and support items. Particularly, you’d taken interest in a hero from Ukraine who’d debuted a few decades ago. Your quirk was wildly similar to his and you couldn’t help but further research his techniques, costume, and gadgets that enhanced his abilities.

You weren’t one to copy. Actually, you quite liked the way your current costume functioned and looked, with its own unique style of your own. Even so, you’d read things about him and his quirk that you honestly hadn’t even thought of for yourself, and you’d begun to make a special section in your notebook for improvements to your hero ensemble. Was it the best use of your time? Perhaps not, but you did have a practical exam coming up, and a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if these improvements you were sketching might make all the difference in your performance . . . .

You decided you could use an upgrade. Which is exactly why you went to the second-year in the support course who was in charge of making adjustments to your costume. Until your hopes were immediately dashed when you found out he was sick. Determined, you went to the next best option: Kobayashi.

He was a nice enough boy. Tall, witty, and a whole year older. You hadn’t expected to be spending so much time with him over the past week, but for whatever reason, he kept calling you back to his workspace in the shop for ‘daily check-ins’. At least he was making good progress.

But now you were spending your lunch hour eating with him. It felt strange, being alone in a different classroom with the guy—not an uncomfortable strange, merely “I’m not used to being here”. You’d let him borrow your notebook full of sketches for your costume, and that’s what he was going over with you now.

He’d ask you for clarification on one of your notes before jotting something down of his own right next to your handwriting. He had also been eager to show you his process, explaining the steps of what he was doing while you ate from your bento.

To be honest, it was kind of nice being in a different setting. Kobayashi was fun to listen to; it was clear he was passionate about what he was doing.

But still, he ran out of things to talk about. That was, when it came to your hero suit. Figuring it was too late to go back to the cafeteria anyway, he ate his own lunch with you, striking up a new conversation.

At first, you didn’t pay any mind to it. But then you began to take notice of how close he sat. Then you realized how eager he was to make you laugh, how smoothly the casual chatter flowed between you. And then it struck you just how much he peppered in compliments to you. Finally, it clicked.

Uh-oh.

You refused to meet his gaze when he waved you off after the bell rang. Dashing away, you wondered how serious he might be. Did he actually like you? No, perhaps you were overthinking the situation.

Then again, he had been being awfully nice to you ever since you’d met. But what if that was just how he was? Kaminari could be like that at times, and you knew he didn’t usually mean anything too serious behind it. Or—well—perhaps Denki the Flirt was a bad example for your case. Still . . . how were you supposed to make it clear to Kobayashi that you weren’t interested?

You shook your head to clear it of these thoughts. He hadn’t actually done anything, so what was the point of worrying about it? You were loyal to Eijirou, you knew that. You’d made a commitment to him just as he had to you, and that was all there was to it. No matter what, you’d continue whatever it was you had with him. Kobayashi wasn’t an issue you should be losing sleep over. Besides, you were probably reading too far into things anyway.

Content with the conclusions you’d made, you walked back into your homeroom class for fifth period. Settling into your seat, you faced the chalkboard in front of you, awaiting the return of Aizawa-sensei, unaware of the pair of ruby eyes fixed on your back.

…

Kirishima shot up from his desk the moment he heard a soft knock on his door. As soon as he opened up his room, you came barreling into his arms. “Hey!” he greeted you, reciprocating the hug.

“Study break!” you announced quietly, not wanting to alert his neighbors of your presence.

He tittered happily to himself, leading your bodies back to his desk where he could sit you on his lap in his chair. Settling comfortably on his thighs, you were quick to slot your lips against his. Kirishima melted into your touch.

How many days had it been since he’d last gotten a chance to kiss you? Two? Three? Either way, it had been far too long.

“Shall we take this to the bed?” he joked after a few minutes of kissing.

You chuckled at his harmless allusion. “You know I’m going to fall asleep as soon as I lay down.”

He brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face, concern morphing his features. “Have you been getting enough rest with all this going on?”

“No,” you admitted. “I was up last night with my English flashcards. I swear Present Mic is trying to kill me with this new vocab, it’s like I can’t get it in my head at all.”

“I could help you study it,” your boyfriend offered, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“That would be productive,” you said sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. “What was it last time? ‘If I get a set right, I’ll get a kiss’ and then next thing I know, we’re making out on your bed for twenty minutes.”

He grinned up at you coyly. “At least I made studying fun.”

“That wasn’t studying!” you protested with a grin. “Speaking of, my timer’s going to go off soon—” you pressed your lips against his for a moment, “—and I want more kisses.”

Kirishima let you have your way with him, threading your fingers through his hair while you savored the taste of his lips. But there was something still nagging at the back of his mind.

“(Y/N)?” he asked when your phone buzzed and you pulled away. “Where were you during lunch today?”

You shrugged, pulling your phone out of your pocket to silence it. “I’m getting improvements on my hero costume. My regular guy got sick so I’m working with this third-year dude.”

“Ohhh.” Kirishima’s worries dissipated almost instantly. “So that’s why you were on the tech floor.”

Confused, you frowned. “Did you see me there or something?”

“Oh, sorry! I just overheard Ashido saying that she saw you down there.” He laughed. “She thought you were flirting with him or something and that you were going to end up dating.”

“Ah, well,” you mumbled, “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not but he, um, actually might have been flirting with me.”

Kirishima’s smile dropped, his arms subconsciously squeezing you tighter to him. “What?”

“I only noticed it today—it totally could be nothing—but I think he’s caught feelings? I mean, why else would he ask me to have lunch with him like this? Not to mention how he was smiling at me, and looking at me, and touching my hand—” You bit your tongue, stopping yourself from saying anything else. Maybe this was more serious than you realized.

Your boyfriend was silent, staring at the floor below you with a troubled expression. His ruby eyes traced over the rectangular patterns on his floor, seemingly lost in thought.

“You know that nothing’s going to happen,” you attempted to reassure him, lifting his chin with one of your fingers so he could look into your eyes. “Those feelings aren’t reciprocated and I’m not going anywhere. I’ve already picked you, Eijirou. There’s no one out there like you.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead, sealing your statements, not only to him but to yourself. “We’ll sort this out. If I have to tell Kobayashi I’m taken, then so be it. Maybe keeping our relationship a secret isn’t everything it’s cracked up to be.”

When you pulled back, you noticed that there was still a pout on Eijirou’s face.

“Aw, what is it?” you asked, tucking one of his fallen sticky spikes back under his bandana.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, pulling you even closer to him.

“Talk to me, baby.” You ran a hand down his back.

“I don’t like the thought of him being around you,” he confessed into your shoulder. “I . . . don’t want him smiling at you like that, or touching you, or letting people think that you belong with him. You’re . . . mine.” He paused before laughing dryly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry. That sounded . . . totally selfish of me and probably not very manly at all—”

“No,” you said simply. “It’s actually kinda hot.”

He pulled back to look at you, perhaps to see if you were joking. Your expression was intrigued, maybe a little flustered. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You swallowed. “I . . . like when you call me yours. It’s cute. And besides, it’s okay that you feel that way. Feelings don’t have to make sense. I'm frustrated about this too.” Pecking his lips a final few times, you regretfully stood from his chair. “I wish there was something more I could do right now, but I should get going. I promised Tsu and Uraraka I’d meet up with them. We can talk about this later.”

“See you, (Y/N),” Kirishima said.

You smiled and waved, turning to the door and checking to see if anyone was in the hall before slipping back out. Kirishima watched you go, wondering what he should do.

Kirishima hadn’t even met the guy and he already hated him. Sure, Kobayashi wasn’t aware you were taken, and he had every right to show interest in you, but that was supposed to be Eijirou. It was Kirishima’s job to flirt with you and be there for you and sweep you off your feet. Your classmates should be shipping you with him, not this random guy from another year.

The redhead sighed. He shouldn’t let himself get so caught up in this. He knew you were capable of sorting this out on your own, and if you really needed him, Kirishima would help you. He couldn’t start getting whiny like some kind of child.

Besides, your friends could think whatever they wanted. It couldn’t affect your relationship. They were just high school kids. They didn’t even know what they were talking about.

Despite the fact he was trying to get back into focusing on his work, Kirishima’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Maybe once exams were over you could finally announce that the two of you were together. Then you wouldn’t have to sneak around so much anymore. He could hug you whenever he wanted, and you could sit on his lap during movie night. He’d be able to kiss you in front of his friends, no problem. Maybe, just to see the look on his face, he’d kiss you in front of—

No, no. Japanese Literature. That was what he was supposed to be thinking about right now. The sooner he finished his work, the sooner he’d be able to see you again.

…

Finally it was Saturday afternoon, and you knew you had an entire day to take things a little easier tomorrow. Maybe you’d even try to take the evening off and spend some time with your boyfriend. But of course, you had to meet with Kobayashi about your hero costume first. Hopefully it would be quick, and perhaps even the last time.

You walked down to the tech floor, heading straight for the workshop. You needed your suit for the practical exam next week, so you hoped he was ready for you.

Peeking into the room, you spotted him putting something into a very familiar case.

“Oh, are you finished?” you asked, walking in.

“Yeah,” he said brightly. “You’re all set, (L/N).”

“Thanks,” you said.

“Here,” he popped the little box open, showing off the finalized improvements he’d done and the changes he’d made that you’d spoken about together. He walked you through everything and you listened politely, asking the occasional question. Even with the newfound bitter taste in your mouth at being around him, you had to admit he'd done a spectacular job.

“That should be everything,” you said, ready to go. “Thanks for working with me.”

“No problem.”

Satisfied, you began to walk away.

“Wait, (L/N).”

Apprehensive, you stopped, turning back to him. “Yeah?”

“I was just wondering,” he began, bashful, “if you’d like to grab lunch with me sometime.”

You frowned, apologetic. “I can’t, Kobayashi senpai.”

“Why not?” He looked hurt.

You winced. “I’m already involved with someone else.”

“You’re just ‘involved’?” he asked dubiously, the expression on his face changing. “Please give me a chance. I can see that you feel something for me too. Whoever you’re with, I could be better.”

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, any momentary sympathy you might have felt evaporating. “Goodbye, Kobayashi.”

He let you go, watching as you walked stiffly out of the classroom. As soon as you rounded the doorway, you felt something grab you. Gasping, you startled, but you were quick to register a familiar head of red hair. You saw Kirishima put a finger to his lips, pulling you further down the hall and towards the empty stairwell for some privacy.

He pushed you up against a blue-gray wall, grinning at you with hooded eyes.

“Eiji, what—?”

“I heard the whole thing,” he murmured, leaning in and capturing your lips for a quick kiss. “I thought that guy might make a move on you so I followed you down here. You held your own.” He kissed you again; this one longer, his tongue sneaking its way into your mouth. “You’re really mine, aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips, a stubborn trace of hesitancy still present and quavering in his voice.

“Of course I am, Eiji,” you whispered, touching your forehead to his. “I’m yours.”

He surged against you again, kissing you hungrily and pinning you even harder against the solid surface behind you.

You gasped against his force, eyebrows drawing together as you struggled to keep up. “Ei—” you tried. “Not here, let’s go someplace else.”

“Who cares?” he murmured, uninterested in stopping.

“Me. I don’t want to get caught by a teacher or a random fifteen-year-old. We could get in trouble.”

Kirishima sighed, finally drawing back for a moment to meet your eyes. “Okay, fine. But we’re going straight to my room, right?”

You snorted. “Where else do you think I want to be?”

He smirked, taking your hand again. “Good answer.”

Kirishima briskly walked you back to the dorms, his hand migrating ever lower down your back. It wasn’t long before he was sitting you on his lap in his bed, mouth once again connecting with yours right where it belonged.

You weren’t sure he’d ever kissed you like this before, in all the time you’d been together. His passion blazed before you, unrelenting as your teeth and tongues crashed together. He nipped at your lips until they flushed and swelled, and you knew they’d be noticeably bruised by morning but neither of you stopped. He kept going, trailing more kisses from the corner of your mouth, to your jaw, and all the way down your neck only to return right back to your parted lips whispering his name.

Kirishima’s room had never felt so hot and stuffy, even as he pulled off his uniform jacket and helped you out of yours. His cheeks burned red as his eyes, so caught up in what he was doing, the only thoughts his mind was still capable of having were simply You.

It went by in a haze. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d lowered you onto his pillow, or how long he’d been hovering over you and caging you in with his arms as he cherished you.

But he knew one thing. His love for you wasn’t something he could hide anymore. No, he’d never let anyone think they stood a chance with you again while he was around.

One day soon, he would kiss you good morning at breakfast. One day, you’d hold hands in the halls on the way to class. One day, he’d pull you in close after school, slinging an arm around your hips just so he always knew you were there at his side.

But he was happy to be here with you now. He was happy to be your secret. He was happy, even as his kisses began to soften and slow, content with the way your body melded against his as he laid himself at your side and hugged you closer. All that mattered was that you were here with him now, and he was yours.

And you were his.

══════ ≪ .·:·.♡.·:·. ≫ ══════

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicalyrandom @bumbyslair @f0leysgurl @hyunmin-1404 @kqtsukii @nabo39 @pyrofanatic​ @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @sendhelpimstupid @ure-a-sunflower @xoxopam4​

[a-n-conrad]

Painting (Steve Rogers x Reader)

[Summary: You decide to paint your friend, Steve Rogers, realizing that no one had ever painted him without his uniform. However, things start to get heated after you start to daydream during your painting session. (She/Her pronouns)

Warnings: SMUT (18+, but with emotions), Not Canon Compliant (Because fuck you, Marvel.), Swearing, unprotected vaginal sex

Request: From my request survey (https://forms.gle/D9rsJtkERoBPaKvv8)]

You and Steve Rogers were widely considered to be an unlikely pair. There were a lot of things that you didn’t exactly agree on. Steve was a lot more social, being bold and outgoing. You were a bit quieter, preferring to avoid the company of a crowd. Steve was prone to waking up early to exercise. You stayed up into the quiet hours of the night, choosing instead to get a majority of your sleep in the morning. You weren’t exactly fond of Steve’s workout routines either, though you would join him on a short jog on occasion.

While you were technically considered an Avenger, you were really only brought out to fight for emergency circumstances. You had some incredibly powerful, incredibly volatile powers, but you really had no interest in using them unless it was completely needed. So you ended up making a few deals. You’d be treated like an Avenger, but you were basically benched unless some drastic, world-ending issue came up. So until then, you were kept on hold in Avengers Tower, spending most of your time painting in the studio that Tony had gotten set up for you.

Despite this power, and despite your title as an official Avenger, you were still a bit of an outsider among the team. You tended not to talk to them a lot, becoming a bit easily overwhelmed by the chaos that the team seemed to radiate. But surprisingly, you and Steve got along incredibly well.

You had originally bonded over your love of art. You loved Steve’s drawings. You admired the linework and shading in his drawings. He could do so much with just a pen, let alone if you gave him a few colors. He admired the amount of emotion you managed to instill into every single painting that you made. No matter what you painted, whether it was a portrait, a landscape, or something entirely different, it was always filled to the brim with the emotion that you had felt while painting it. It was like looking through a window into your soul. It was so honest and refreshing.

Eventually the two of you started to talk a bit more while you worked. It started pretty tame, just discussions of how your day was or general questions about each other like “What’s your favorite color”. But eventually you moved on to the harsher topics of your lives. Steve would talk about how exhausting it was to be the face of America, to be held on such a pedestal while also being expected to sacrifice everything at the drop of a hat. You talked about how cold and dehumanizing it felt to be seen by the American government as nothing more than a weapon, a walking nuclear bomb.

Your struggles overlapped at certain points. You both spent a lot of your time being used by the government. You were both seen as tools more than you were seen as people by a lot of the general public. You were a weapon and he was an idol, some sort of trophy. So you bonded a lot over your shared struggles as you talked to each other and worked on art side by side. And when the hard stuff got a bit too heavy, you’d sit and talk about art. About subjects that you just loved to add to all of your work. About what each shade of every color meant to you, about the emotions that you saw in every tiny color shift.

It was so nice, for both of you, to have something like that. The studio that you spent time in was so safe and peaceful for both of you, since the other Avengers tended to avoid it. And the two of you had started to see through each other’s masks enough to truly get to know each other. Steve couldn’t remember the last time someone had known him as Steve Rogers more than they had known him as Captain America. He had Bucky, but Bucky was far too busy with his own issues for Steve to even consider burdening him with anything else. But with you he could truly be himself, even if that meant getting angry, sad, or frustrated.

So the two of you had become incredibly close, despite your differences. And every day that you had some free time without any big meeting or mission, you would be in the studio helping each other with art. It was a good way for you to relieve stress, just relaxing with each other. It was one of those days that you came to a realization.

- - - - -

“Has anyone ever painted you?” You asked suddenly one day as the two of you sat side by side in the art studio. He looked a bit surprised, and then he looked confused.

“Of course. There are murals of me up all over the place, (Y/n).”

“No, there are murals of Captain America,” you responded, shaking your head, “They don’t really look that much like you. You really only look like that when you’re working as Captain America. So has anyone ever painted you? As Steve Rogers?”

He looked surprised again. And you could tell as the emotions cycled through his face that he didn’t really know how to respond. You supposed it was a bit of an odd question. And you knew that it was a bit odd to think of someone and their superhero persona as two different people, but Steve couldn’t disagree. He wasn’t Captain America all the time, and he loved that you understood that, “I suppose I’ve never really thought about it, but I guess not.”

You hummed a bit, “That’s a shame. It feels like a waste that everyone paints a costume. You should let me paint you sometime.”

You said it in a way that he wasn’t sure if you were serious. Your face was entirely serious when you said it, but you said it so casually, not even really looking at him, “Really?”

You finally looked up at him, noticing the pure confusion on his face, “Of course. I mean, you’d have to sit still for a while, but honestly, you could probably just sit and sketch for a while. You just seem too good of a subject to not be painted without the costume.”

Steve wasn’t really one to blush, but it was quite the compliment coming from you. He had women trying to hit on him all the time now, being Captain America, but that never really felt heartfelt. It had been a fairly long time since he had actually felt a real connection with someone. But to hear you compliment him, thinking of him as Steve Rogers instead of Captain America, made his heart flutter a bit. And the fact that he knew that you were rather picky about the subject you painted only made it more effective.

“I, uh, think that’d be cool,” He responded as soon as he was sure that he could trust his voice not to crack, though he couldn’t hide the slight stutter. It was honestly endearing how much his personality changed when he wasn’t working. While he was still headstrong and stubborn, he was a bit less confident. He knew he could win a fight. He knew that he looked good on television. But he didn’t really know how to interact with people in the new modern age. He was lucky to have the friends that he did. At least, that’s how he felt about it.

“Wonderful,” You hummed, starting to put away all of your supplies, “Why don’t we pack it up for the day and I can start painting you tomorrow if we aren’t too busy?”

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

- - - - -

The next day was surprisingly slow. You had to say that you were thankful. You had been looking forward to getting to paint Steve, even though you knew it was making him a little nervous. You were honestly excited to have a new project, and part of you was excited for the opportunity to stare at Steve for a bit without it being considered weird. He was easy to admire, both physically and on a personal level, so you found yourself staring more often than you’d like to admit. You were pretty sure that you had been lucky enough to avoid being caught though.

He was physically gorgeous. Obviously. But something about the way that he looked when he was drawing was nearly angelic. The way he furrowed his brows just a little and turned his paper at odd angles to make sure that the proportions of his sketches were right was adorable. The look in his eyes when his work started to come together made your heart melt. When he got a bit frustrated and would run a hand through his hair you could feel your heart skip a beat. You felt a bit dumb to be drooling over your friend, but you had to admit you were falling pretty hard for him. So you’d use this painting as an excuse to admire him without any questions.

He was already blushing a bit when he came into the studio, and you had a feeling that part of it was from Tony teasing him. He had a habit of giving the two of you a bit of a hard time about how much time you spent together. But the blush was still adorable. Something about Steve when he was nervous stole your heart. He was surprisingly soft when he had the space to be.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” He asked as he strode over to your work station that you had already gotten set up.

“Just pull a chair up in front of me. You can get comfortable, start sketching, and I’ll get a base outline and block out as much as I can. Just let me know if you need a break and try not to change your pose too much. At least until I can get all of the base shapes right,” You instructed, trying to keep your voice even. You were surprised at how well you managed to hide the fact that you were completely lovesick.

“Alright, sounds good,” He responded, pulling up a chair and getting himself situated. He crossed one of his legs over the other, resting his ankle on his other thigh to give himself a place to set his sketchbook. You tossed him his pencil once he got himself settled, and then you got to work.

You had to admit you had started to get a bit frustrated with how easily you managed to get distracted by him while you were trying to paint. You had hoped that maybe painting him would help. You had no reason to get distracted from your painting when you were painting him. At least, that’s what you had thought before you started sketching out the form.

You felt yourself losing focus as your brush moved smoothly, the incredibly thin, light paint building a form that you found yourself wanting to know a bit more intimately. You tried your best to stay focused on the canvas in front of you, but you couldn’t stop your mind from drifting. You imagined what his body looked like under his clothes as you blocked out the lights and shadows of the fabric that rested over his abs. And the vivid image in your brain, the detailed picture of his body that you had conjured up in front of you, followed your brush as you worked.

The brush slid smoothly across the canvas, outlining his muscles, almost all of which showed through his thin t-shirt. Your brain almost instantly conjured up a matching image, the fantasy becoming more and more dynamic as you went on. It shifted from regular images of what his abs looked like when he was shirtless to more detailed images. Thoughts of his biceps flexing a bit as he held himself over you, his arms covered in sweat. Thoughts of his hands sliding across your skin. It only got worse as you moved down, eventually reaching the point between his legs.

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?” Steve’s voice finally broke you from your thoughts, his eyes which had been focused intently on his drawing when you had last looked were now trained on your face, scanning for any sign as to what was causing you to space out, “You don’t normally get distracted when you’re painting, is everything alright?”

“Oh,” You tried your best to pull yourself back to reality, though the fantasies seemed to be burned into your brain, “Yeah, sorry. I was, uh, spacing out a bit.”

“Do you want to take a break for a bit? Maybe we should get up and stretch,” He suggested. You nodded in response, hoping it would help you refocus on your painting.

It didn’t help much, though, as Steve stood, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifted up just enough to show some skin, and his pants were riding fairly low. Your eyes almost involuntarily moved to look at him, landing right about the button to the jeans that he was wearing. The muscles in his hips and stomach formed an almost perfect V shape leading into his pants.

“(Y/N)?” You had been caught staring. You tried your best to look casual, relaxing your posture. Your mistake was to try to lean on the table, setting your hand directing on your palette, which was covered in paints.

You froze, and Steve’s eyes landed on your hand, the red and blue paint gushing out from the sides. You felt like an awkward teenager, doing stupid ridiculous shit in front of your crush. You watched intently for a reaction from Steve, not really knowing what to do and hoping that the way that he reacted would give you something easy to respond to.

He raised one of his eyebrows at you, a look of confusion, with a small hint of amusement under the surface painted across his face, “You seem to have set your hand in your paint.”

“Uh, yes, it would seem so,” You responded awkwardly, finally lifting your hand out of the paint. You still really weren’t sure what to say, and not knowing where to put your hand so that you wouldn’t smear any paint anywhere wasn’t really making you feel any better. You cleared your throat a bit, trying to think of something smart to say, something that wouldn’t signal exactly how far gone you were into your fantasies, but instead you just signaled to Steve how flustered you were.

You knew that Steve had never been the biggest ladies’ man. From what he had told you, he was actually pretty awkward growing up, but the confidence that washed over him as he finally figured out what was getting you so flustered was visible. He walked closer to you, standing close enough to emphasize how tall he was, “Got something on your mind, sweetheart?”

“Oh, uh,” You stuttered, not sure what to say. You could tell that he knew from the smirk on his face, but you could feel your face heating up as you thought about explaining your fantasizing to Steve. He smirked even more as you got visibly flustered.

“It’s okay, honey, I don’t mind if you stare a little,” He said, standing a bit closer, his hand moving to hold your chin. You swallowed deeply as his fingers brushed against your skin softly. Your eyes locked with his as his hand tilted your chin up just a little.

As much as he was keeping up his confident, masculine persona, you could see the complete warmth in his eyes. He softened completely when you looked at him, pure admiration in your eyes. He had to admit it warmed his heart to see you looking at him like that, like he was your whole world. And maybe it was because he felt the same way. He had been falling in love with you slowly, and as he looked at you, he wanted to find every way possible to express it.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his voice soft.

“Please.”

His lips were much softer than you thought they’d be, but you didn’t think about it too much as his lips moved against your own. It was soft at first, but it began to escalate quickly, getting rough and more passionate. His hands moved to your waist, pulling your body into his own, and your hands moved to his face, too focused on the kiss to notice the fact that you were smearing paint across his cheek.

He pulled back, allowing you to get a breath of air. That was when you noticed the red and blue streaks across his cheek, “Shit, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about,” He brushed it off, before pulling you into another kiss. He truly didn’t seem to care at all about the paint, choosing instead to focus on you.

This kiss started off much more passionate, building even further. Before long he pulled away again, pulling a groan from your mouth as you instinctively wanted more. Your complaints were silenced, though, as he began to kiss down your neck, nipping slighting at a few select spots, leaving marks for you to see later.

“If you want me to stop, just say it,” He said, as his hands started to move towards the hem of your shirt. He was moving slowly, giving you the chance to stop him at any point. You didn’t.

Before long, your clothes were entirely discarded, scattered haphazardly across the floor. Steve’s followed shortly. Neither of you could keep your hands to yourself, feeling the curves of each other's bodies as you continued to kiss. Both of you were desperate, the tension that neither of you even realized had been building finally crashing to the ground around you, any sort of restraint being thrown out the window.

However, you had to take a few moments to admire his body. You knew that it was perfect, he was a super soldier, of course it’s perfect, but you didn’t really know how perfect until it was right in front of you. There was no way you could’ve imagined it in a way that did it true justice. The warmth under his skin, the pace of his breathing, the firm feeling of his grip on your waist. Those were things that you could never have imagined fully.

He lifted you up without any issue, placing his hands under your thighs, carrying you to the work table and setting you on a clear section of the table without breaking the kiss. His hands slid across the tops of your thighs before grabbing your hips. Yours moved from his cheeks to rest on his bare chest, smearing a bit more paint across his scalped chest. You could feel his erection brush against your leg as he leaned over you, the two of you trying to get as close to each other as possible.

You were breathing heavily, your brain clouded with need, both new and left over from your earlier fantasies. Fantasies that were coming true, “Please, Steve.”

“What is it, Sweetheart?” Steve asked, looking down at you, his pupils blown wide with desire, “What do you want?”

You began to grind against his thigh without really thinking about it. He had to admit that something about you needing him this much turned him on, but he wanted to wait until you said it before he did anything, “Please fuck me.”

He would’ve liked to have a bit more foreplay, but both of you were so needy, having built up to this for so long with so little release until now. So he complied with your request. He pulled you quickly to the edge of the table. You were forced to lay your upper body down completely so that he could pull your hips to hang over the edge a bit. He took a few moments to rub himself against the entrance to your pussy, coating the head of his cock with liquid that was practically dripping from your pussy. Finally, he pushed himself into you slowly, making sure to monitor your reaction for any sort of discomfort. You were indulging in the feeling of him slowly stretching you out, completely enjoying the feeling of having him as close to you as possible.

He started moving after he was sure that you were comfortable, his hands beginning to wander your body, squeezing at your hips and breasts, basically any part of you that had a bit of squish, something for him to grab. His mouth latched on to the base of your neck, leaving a deep, dark hickey. You could feel every movement of his hips, his cock brushing against your internal walls again with each thrust.

You couldn’t hold back your moans as he found the perfect spot to hit, one of his hands gripping one of your hips tightly to hold you in place as his thrusts gained momentum. He started picking up speed a bit, taking care to continue to hit the spot that made you moan the loudest. His other hand slid down further, his fingers making their way between your folds. He was surprisingly quick to find your clit, not that you were complaining. Your eyes practically rolled back in your head as he started to rub small circles over it, keeping pace with his thrusts.

You were practically putty in his hands, falling apart as he found every way to make you moan. Touch, squeezing, kissing, and biting exactly where you needed him to. You had no idea how he knew exactly what you wanted, but you didn’t really care as a knot began to build in the pit of your stomach.

You practically screamed his name as the knot finally snapped, Steve continuing his motions, continuing to rub your clit, as you rode out your climax, your whole body feeling as though fireworks were shooting through your veins. Your walls tightened with the waves of your orgasms, the fluttering feeling clear to Steve as he continued to bury himself inside of you. Soon after your climax finished, you could feel his thrust begin to get a bit sloppy, focus clear on his face as he tried his best to hold on longer.

He couldn’t hold on that long, though, soon giving in to the building pleasure. He came hard, his hips snapping into your own and his head being buried in your neck to hide his curses as he came completely undone. You could feel the thick hot ropes of his cum coating your insides as he finished. You both stayed like that for a few moments in order to catch your breath.

As you started to come back to reality, you finally noticed the mess you had made. Steve’s hair was a mess, blue paint sticking some of the tips together. You couldn’t even remember when you had grabbed his hair, but the paint smears left a clear map of where your hand had wandered. The blue and red stripes across his face and chest were clear, too. In fact, you had gotten paint all over his sculpted body, the blue smears outlining his muscles.

“We should probably clean up and get back to work, huh?” He eventually sighed, his eyes never leaving your body.

“I suppose.”

(A/N: Thanks for reading! If you want to send me a tip for my writing feel free to tip me over venmo! My venmo is Al3x13l. Tips aren't required, but as a broke college student, they are appreciated.)

[nbrook29]

Kiss or Slap

Sander doesn’t remember when exactly their group made the riverside near the Scheldt their new hangout spot, but he couldn’t be more grateful for it as a cold breeze washes over his overheated body, providing a momentary relief against the scorching heat falling from the sky. It’s probably why the park is fuller than it usually is on Thursday afternoons, packed with people spread on their picnic blankets, searching for a bit of shadow under the big trees and desperately craving a bit of wind. 

It’s so hot he doesn’t even feel like sketching, preferring to just lie on the grass without moving a single muscle, and dying in peace. Even the enticing smell of cinnamon rolls that Noor brought with her isn’t enough for him to reach out and take one from the basket, the action requiring too much movement on his part.

“Guys, come on, we have to start or we’ll never get it done! Sander, get your lazy ass up.” He grunts when he feels Leon’s merciless fingers jabbing him in the ribs.

“Can’t we wait until it gets a little less hot?”

“No, cause that’s not happening in the nearest future and we need new content,” Nathan butts in, followed by Noor, which makes Sander officially outvoted. So he heaves a deep sigh, puts his shirt back on and ruffles his hair to make himself more presentable, rolling his eyes at Noor’s appreciative whistling.

“Someone’s gonna snatch himself a bunch of kisses today with that smoldering look,” she teases, pretending to give him a once over.

“Is that your way of telling me you want one for yourself, sweetheart?” He’s immensely proud of himself when her entire face scrunches up in disgust.

“Eww, no, feels like incest at this point.” Which is kinda true given the fact they’ve known each other since kindergarten and became best friends making sand castles. He fires an obnoxious wink at her, fully anticipating a shove which comes as expected within seconds, with Noor calling him a creep in between laughter.

“Who should we start with? Senne? Wanna go first?” Sander watches as Leon takes out his camera equipment and checks the settings as the rest collects their things.

“I guess, yeah. And then Nathan after me?”

“I’m not doing it, man, you know Britt, she’s gonna flip out.”

“Be a good reason to break up with her,” Sander mutters under his breath, not really feeling apologetic when Nathan shoots him a glare. It would be a long time coming, and honestly, Sander can’t wait for that moment to come. Just being in her presence gives him chills, she’s that much of a horrible person. A few years ago, he read something about alternate universes and sometimes when he looks at her he can’t help but think there’s a history there with the two of them, in a past life or something. At least it would explain that weird energy between them.

If it’s true, he feels very sorry for that Sander. 

He roots for him to run far away from said devil’s spawn.

“I can go next, I don’t have the ball and chain,” Noor says innocently, but she’s smirking over Nathan’s shoulder at Sander who pretends to high five her in their shared hatred for Britt.

“Yeah, us lonely birds will sacrifice ourselves and take the hit for the wellbeing of our channel,” Sander laments playfully, making Senne snort.

“Dude, you’re on your own by your own choice.”

“And pickiness. Don’t forget pickiness,” Noor adds smugly.

Sander huffs in protest. “I’m not picky! I just...” He cuts off because he’s not about to just explain it all now.

“Just what?”

“Specific about what I want.”

Brown curls, brown eyes, shortish, lean, pierced ear, cute giggle, elegant hands and a smile brighter than the sun. 

To be exact.

“Yeah. That’s picky.”

“Whatever,” he replies grumpily, and decides to ignore Noor’s knowing look. Sometimes he feels like she has a sixth sense and can read him like a book. Or she’s just less oblivious than the boys in their friend group. That’s a totally possible option too.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push him further (she’s awesome like that), though Sander has a feeling she’s gonna grill him later when they’re alone. For now, she checks her lipstick in her phone as they all briefly plan the video.

Not like there’s that much to plan; a few days ago, they decided to shoot a kiss or slap challenge for their YouTube channel because it had been wildly requested by their viewers.

Sander still doesn’t quite know how he became a part of a YouTube channel in the first place, always considering himself to be a bit more, well, sophisticated than that? But Leon was into it from the beginning and made them all participate in exchange for free beer, until one day one of their videos blew up.

If you can call getting 100k views on one video blowing up. 

Anyway, they got semi-popular amongst Flemish teens and even managed to snatch a sponsorship with Mentos (however small the offer was) that paid actual money. And he had just managed to move out of his family house so any money coming his way he welcomed with no questions asked. 

So they’ve kept shooting silly challenges slash anything else that’s a trend at a given time and have been able to cover their art supply needs with what little they earned. And, though Sander refused to admit it in the beginning, it’s actually kinda fun. It’s definitely better than his part time job at Pull&Bear where he has to deal with obnoxious customers on an almost daily basis.

They record a short introduction near the river, quickly going over the rules and explaining that the three of them will be competing in who gets more kisses versus slaps. 

“Hey, you know what, this is actually unfair cause you both can kiss anybody,” Senne points out all of a sudden, receiving four pairs of unimpressed glances.

“No one’s stopping you from getting kisses from boys too, dude,” Sander is quick to shut him up, shit-eating grin on his face as he gives him his first (light) slap to the cheek. 

They follow Senne around the park with a camera as he turns on his charm and smiles sweetly at the girls he chooses for the challenge, doing surprisingly well on the first few attempts. But when they venture deeper into the park and he tries his luck with college girls, he gets 5 slaps in the row to the rest of the group’s utter delight. In the end, his results are a blow to his pride and even Sander feels sorry for him, giving him a pat on the back while trying to hold his laughter in at Senne’s grumpy face.

Noor does much better, naturally, as her upbeat personality and a wide smile have always made boys and girls turn their heads. She gets a kiss after kiss, blush after blush, and two phone numbers in the process. Senne argues again that it’s unfair because no one’s gonna slap a girl anyway, but Leon just calls him a sore loser while Noor shamelessly flirts in French with another girl right in front of the camera.

Sander’s very proud.

Taking a quick sip of water, he gives Leon a thumbs up and starts his round, coming over to three blond girls chilling near the skateboarding ramps, trying very hard not to come off as creepy and clarifying the kiss part being only a cheek kiss. The girls erupt in giggles, but they all grant him a light kiss. One of them tries to flirt with him after, but he shoots her down before she can get too into it.

“Such a heartbreaker, you,” Noor coos at Sander’s pained face when they all walk away.

“That’s you, and you actually enjoy it,” he quips back, sticking his tongue at her.

“I do not, shut up!”

Fifteen minutes and fourteen kisses later he’s officially in the lead, sealing his victory with a kiss number fifteen he receives from a cute redhead. He’s gloating in Senne’s bemused face about nobody choosing to slap him when he stops in his tracks.

It’s the proof of his hopeless infatuation that he’d recognize that laugh everywhere.

He looks around for its source, but he comes up short. Then, his eyes focus on the skatepark area and his heart starts beating faster.

Because it feels like a sign. Like the universe is giving him a chance to finally do something. Make a move.

“Hey, can we shoot one more try?” He asks the guys, trying to sound casual while glancing furtively in the direction of brown curls.

“You’ve already won, but I guess?”

Nobody questions him about his reasons, they just follow him to the ramp.

And he’s so fucking nervous. 

It’s incredible, really, how he generally has no problems talking to people he’s interested in, conversation flowing without him even trying, gaining easy smiles and appreciative looks wherever he goes, some natural confidence to him. 

But that boy. That boy is something else.

He makes him question everything he says, makes his palms sweat and makes his deep hidden shyness come onto the surface.

Sander saw him for the first time during Open Day at the Academie in may, strolling casually through the hallway with his friend, completely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to Sander’s heart.

That was the day Sander saw an angel. 

Fate placed him on his path again sooner than he could’ve hoped, the boy participating in a 2 week film course at his school only several days after he saw him for the first time. And he tried so hard to convince himself to talk to him over that time, but he only managed a few smiles while passing him by in the hallway. 

That and that one stupid joke he said to him while they were waiting in line at the cafeteria that makes him cringe in despair just thinking about it. Seriously, it’s like his entire cool evaporates when he’s near him.

But, the boy laughed at it. So maybe it wasn’t as horrible as Sander is making it to be. Or he was just being nice. 

Robbe. 

Robbe, who he’s been crushing on ever since that fateful day in may.

Robbe, who was at the same party he was last weekend.

Robbe, who he talked to at that party and managed to calm his nerves enough to be charming and funny.

Robbe, who giggled, blushed and bit his lip at Sander’s dumb jokes that evening.

Robbe, who slipped through his fingers because Sander blacked out soon after.

He almost never drinks, but that one night he did, celebrating the beginning of summer break, and not realizing his usual abstinence meant he was now officially a lightweight. What an awful timing.

Robbe doesn’t notice him right away, having his back turned to him while talking animatedly to his friends. Taking a deep breath and plastering a smile to his face to hide his nervousness, he approaches them.

“Hey guys, got a second?”

He notices the recognition in Robbe’s face right away, and Sander shoots him a quiet “hi” when his eyes meet his, an unsure smile blooming on his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” One of the boys nods at the camera.

“I’m Sander, and we’re shooting a video for our YouTube channel, the kiss or slap challenge,” he quickly explains, the boys’ faces lighting up.

“Hey, we have a channel too! I’m Moyo, this is Jens, Aaron, and Robbe.” Moyo reaches out to bump his fist with him and damn, Sander has to find that channel if Robbe is a part of it.

Jens levels him with a look. “So, you want us to kiss you or slap you?” 

“Pretty much, yeah?” Sander chuckles because he’s aware it’s ridiculous, but he’s a man on a mission here, give him a break.

“I think Robbe should represent all of us, don’t you think so?” Moyo proposes, tongue in his cheek as he checks with the rest of his friends. Sander catches the death glare Robbe sends the boy before looking back at him and crossing his arms, looking a bit out of place. And, fuck, the last thing Sander wants is to make him uncomfortable.

So he asks softly, “you’re in?” and waits for agonizing five seconds as Robbe watches him, eyes narrowed, before his features smooth out and he smiles at him.

“Sure, why not.”

Relieved, Sander lets out a chuckle and tries to keep his cool. “Okay then - kiss or slap?”

Robbe squints against the sun and makes him wait another few seconds before he answers, but Sander’s not worried because there’s a soft smile on his face and obviously his angel wouldn’t-

“Slap.”

Wait, what.

He can hear his friends bursting in laughter at this unexpected turn of events while Sander can only stare in shock because how could he miscalculate the situation this much?

Gulping, confused and heartbroken, he asks, “you’re sure?”, to which Robbe nods with a poorly hidden glee.

“But you have to close your eyes cause I can’t hit you while you're looking at me.”

Heaving a deep sigh and trying to save a face despite the humiliation flooding his body, he nods and closes his eyes, steeling himself for it.

But it never comes.

Suddenly, he feels a hand cupping his cheek and he flinches a little, but then soft lips touch his in a kiss so gentle he blinks his eyes open, not knowing what’s happening.

“That was payback for you promising to call me and not keeping your word,” Robbe whispers against his lips before leaning away, something sad and wistful passing through his face. Sander is left completely dumbfounded, ignoring the hollering from the two groups as his eyes fleet all over Robbe’s face.

It’s difficult for him to collect his thoughts because holy fuck, Robbe has just kissed him and he’s internally freaking out. He finally manages to get his bearings when the remnants of a smile slip off Robbe’s lips.

“I-, Robbe, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you, but I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you. At the party?” He doesn’t look like he believes a word Sander is saying.

“Um, I kinda blacked out and don’t remember much after like one-ish?”

“You saved it though, I saw you typing it in,” Robbe argues again, but this time he doesn’t look so sure. “Wait, what’s your number?”

Sander watches him entering digit after digit before hitting call. He fully expects a plain number to appear on his screen, eyes widening when he sees what pops up instead.

zk bambieys 🥺🦌👁️💘🧡💖💞 calling

“Fuck, you did give me your number.” He’s not fast enough to hide his screen from Robbe, but he can't even feel embarrassment once he notices the frown disappeared from his face.

“Bambi eyes?” There's a teasing note in his voice, but his pink cheeks sell him out.

Sander scratches his head. "I was very drunk, you can't hold it against me. Also, your eyes are really beautiful," he clarifies, winking when Robbe laughs at his shameless flirting. "Hey, I tried to find you on instagram, but nothing came up. I was really hoping we're gonna bump into each other again. Sorry for being a dumbass and not realizing I had your number this entire time?”

“It’s okay.” Robbe shoves his hand into the pockets of his jeans, swaying on his heels. Sander decides to put them both out of their misery and take the initiative.

“So if I asked you out, would you say yes?”

It looks like Robbe’s about to nod, but then he bites his lip, an almost cheeky smile directed at him. “I guess you have to call me to find out.” And then he gets on his skateboard and casually skates away to the nearest ramp, pulling a surprised laugh out of Sander.

If he was intrigued before, now he’s totally smitten with this wonder of a boy, because damn. 

Their friends finally seem to regain their voices and speak over each other at what just happened, but Sander doesn’t pay them any attention, just takes out his phone again and pressing the call button. 

Watching as Robbe comes to a full stop at the top of the ramp, he cocks his head with a grin and waits until he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Sander.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Robbe laughs into the speaker.

“Will you go out with me?”

He meets his eyes across the skatepark as Robbe makes him wait again.

Then, with a smile so radiant it overshadows the sun, the boy finally gives him his answer.

“Yes.”